


Christmases

by Omoni



Series: Abovetale [33]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Bittersweet, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, F/F, F/M, Floor Pie (Undertale), Love everyone ;_;, Multi, Traditions, holiday fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2019-02-01
Packaged: 2019-09-27 10:08:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 38,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17160056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Omoni/pseuds/Omoni
Summary: A look at how Christmas was celebrated throughout all of their years, together, and the changes within each one.This takes place after A Song For A Storm, and contains spoilers for not only the entire game, but for the entire Abovetale series.I've never written a holiday fic, before, and may never do so, again. So please forgive me if it's shit.This fanfic will resume and be completed in December of 2019. Thanks :3





	1. Chapter 1

It was always hard, during this time of year, when it was time to gather the family in New Solace Home.

Before their deaths, Asgore and Toriel had always made Christmas _the event,_ especially for Frisk, but especially when she and Asriel had Nickname, and Alphys and Undyne had Basket – then Dandelion. Whenever there was a kid around, the two former royals would coddle _everyone_ , especially the youngest, and made it an experience.

Asgore would dress up as Santa (something that had, at first, rather dismayed Papyrus when he realised the truth, but not for long; his presents were perfect), and would always be the one to hand out the gifts they'd all bring with them, and he refused to let anyone else so much as don a Santa hat, let alone hand out presents.

And Toriel would always overbake. The whole house would always smell of fresh cookies, cupcakes, muffins, and especially pies. She overfed everyone and made sure everyone had at least one pie each to take home before they left.

Throughout the years, they'd left their marks on the rest of the family, and when forced to accept their absence, it was always helpful to look back, and remember.

* * *

Frisk's first Christmases with her new friends were good, though that wasn't much of a feat when remembering her previous Christmases.

She refused to talk about them, until she was much older, and only told Asriel; he'd been so heartbroken alongside her that he cried for an hour.

She did, too.

But even including the ones with her Great Aunt Maine lacked in comparison.

Frisk expected _very_ little each year, but especially expected nothing for the first one. She truly felt that her real present was the peaceful life she now had, and she never asked for anything until years later.

The first time, the barrier had dropped mere months before, and Frisk knew how crazy and trying everything was for them, especially when it came to giving them rights, making new political alliances, and giving them land and commercial licenses - all things they would need to wait to have for five years - at _least_.

This all led to the sad fact that they had yet to get permission to own land, let alone buy homes; all of Frisk's new friends lived Underground, still, when winter arrived.

Frisk lived with Toriel in Home, and would until early next year, when Frisk was legally recognised as Ambassador, and Toriel, Frisk's new mother. She went to a human school on the surface, and would remain there until she was about twelve, when the bill for surface schools for monsters was passed, and Toriel found the best spot to build her dream school, at last.

Frisk spent as much time with Toriel as possible, both rather clinging to each other rather tight, their new lives still scary and new - even to Frisk. She'd known the surface, known it _could_ be good, but had suffered too much during the bad to remember any of that good. 

But she knew it was even worse for her new mother, who hadn't been on the surface in (she would only admit to) at least a century. She needed Frisk to help navigate it, and they learnt together. 

* * *

 Those first few Christmases had been quite good, as mentioned. Better than she remembered. Toriel had enjoyed mothering her, respecting her as well as raising her, and Christmas was no exception.

Asgore, however, didn't live there, yet, for those first few times. He refused to be caught on the surface that soon, not ready for it, so he kept to his Underground tradition, to keep morale high.

Asgore invited Frisk along, hoping to cheer her up; he knew she felt the same as he, and hated being apart from him, already seeing him as her father, even that first year. So, he asked.

It had worked. Frisk spent most of Christmas morning and afternoon with him, while Toriel “ran some errands”. It was the truth; there was a lot she wanted to do for Frisk that year, and needed the time to do it right.

Asgore showered attention upon her, keeping her on his shoulders as he delivered presents, her hands curled around his garland-twined horns happily. Every monster enjoyed Asgore's - _Santasgore's_ \- extra passenger, especially so when Snowhen gave Frisk a green Santa hat to wear.

When he was finished, and they were back in new Home, he gave her a handheld game console, an _expensive_ one, she knew, and she hugged him for a while, trying not to cry; she knew he would misunderstand, and didn't want to hurt his feelings like that. It was just that she hadn't asked, but he'd still known, and while she had protested presents, he'd known she still wanted at least one or two. 

That kind of love, the attention to detail, the fact that he always listened to her every word, was alien to her, but also something she'd been starved of. With that one taste of unconditional love, she was addicted.

She was amazed someone like him could love her, but somehow, he did. 

* * *

 Frisk came home without him, sadly; he'd insisted on not going in, knowing he would only make it worse, and it hurt Frisk, dearly.

When she'd come home wearing her hat and holding her present, she stood in the doorway and promptly burst into tears. The second Toriel met her gaze, the old Queen knew why, even before Frisk choked it out, missing him already...

It was the very same pain as Toriel's, only slightly angled differently. She knew she'd had a great part in his keeping away, but she'd wanted him to at least _try..._

But he didn't, and this would remain that way until Toriel and Asgore reconciled.

Frisk always took videos and pictures, and showed him the day after, and it made him very happy, indeed. It wasn't enough to completely heal his heart, but it kept him going.

And that mattered.

* * *

 That first year had been a surprise to Frisk; when she'd come home from a fake errand, one she and Toriel left the house for, she had no idea that it was a plan, because it simply never occurred to her.

But when they got back, everyone (except Asgore) was there, waiting for her, all grinning and swarming around her the second she closed the door behind her.

She started to cry immediately, from both shock and joy. It was shocking for everyone else, too, as most had never seen her cry, let alone known she was able to. They'd seen her as a mature, calm child, and she liked and preferred that.

But she was ten, and while she was ancient for her age, she was still _ten_ ; it touched her deeply, that these new people in her life, this circle of adults, loved her so much, after so little time, and treated her like family. Even when she cried, they all tried to hug her, which made her laugh – and finally calm down.

Once she had, she was sat down and buried under presents, and felt awful for not being able to give anything back – not realising that she already had given them the best gift of their lives: freedom.

The gifts were always perfect for her, too. Her new family had ways of getting her to admit a want or desire of something without her realising it, which was how they always scored, each year.

Alphys and Undyne weren’t together yet, either, that first time, but ended up giving her similar presents – games for the video game console Asgore had given her, pleasing her immensely. Both, when they realised, went red with shy embarrassment and secret desire, but never exchanged an informal word.

Papyrus gave her a set of basketball epaulets, which she immediately put on.

sans gave her a fancy pen.

“your sword,” he explained, and she hugged him, loving it, and its meaning.

And every year, after that, he always supplied her with extra ink cartridges, and she used it for everything, from signing her first bill as Ambassador, to writing “The End” on the last page of her memoirs.

Mettaton, surprisingly enough, got her a really great gift, one she hadn't expected: a necklace with a multi-coloured medallion, each colour a gemstone, in a nice rectangular column. There were seven, and Frisk loved it so much that she wore it for eight years.

It shattered during her fight with Sans, and she never asked for a replacement, knowing it would hurt too much. But she kept the remains when she went back to find them, and kept them in a special box for the rest of her life.

Toriel was the last, and when Frisk had opened them all, Toriel grabbed hers and knelt down in front of Frisk, looking into her eyes and seeing so much love there, love she'd needed, had been robbed of, and now had.

To Frisk, _that_ was all she needed or wanted from Toriel, but she let her new mother set the small-sized box in her lap, beaming at her.

Frisk opened it - and laughed, leaning back and covering her mouth, her eyes squeezing shut as she once again tried not to cry.

In her hands was a small piece of paper, a photocopy of one far larger, but she knew what it was, even before she read it, and she corrected herself: there _was_ something she'd needed, and she now had it.

Frisk’s new birth certificate, with her new name, her preferred gender (“NB” at first, then “F” when she realised, at sixteen, that she was – _mostly_ – cis gender), and her new birthday: September fifteenth, twenty-oh-five.

It took her an hour to stop crying after that, one that was spent warm and loved within her family's arms.

Except for Asgore, an absence Frisk always felt keenly.

* * *

 The next few years were like that, too, each gift more and more meaningful, and the second year also included gifts to and from everyone else.

But again, no Asgore.

* * *

 It was only when they'd reconciled that Frisk finally felt like it was a _real_ Christmas, because now, her parents were together, and now lived on the surface, renaming Toriel's house “New New Home”. They remarried, and never looked back. The years would test that marriage, but even at its worst, neither left.

Not now. Never again.

 _That_ year was wild; Undyne was so happy to have Asgore there, but she was also happy to have Alphys, too; it was _their_ first Christmas, together, and both could finally relax. While still rather new, the relationship they now had was one that seemed overdue, and both wanted to catch up for time missed.

But Alphys was clearly nervous, and either had yet to move to the surface, despite both wanting to – and together. They were waiting for the other to say it, first - like always. Sure, eventually they were forced on a date, but they both wanted that date, and it had finally brought them together.

It was... romantic, really. Loving.

Everyone who should've been together now were, and it felt... complete.

Their family felt complete.

Except... _not_.

* * *

 Frisk once asked Flowey if he wanted to be visited on holidays, even if they weren't on a Friday, but he'd snarled a no, and demanded that she never asked that, again. She didn't, but the Friday following Christmas, she would still visit him – and give him a present.

Later, she would learn how painful that had been for him, how awful he'd felt when making fun of her for it, all while his heart and returned soul cried, deeply touched, and desperate to thank her.

She gave him small things, little knickknacks, certain he'd sell or throw them away, but still wanting to give him... _something_ , anyway.

However, he didn't. He saved them all, and Frisk only found out when she'd saved _him._ Not long after they'd moved into Solace, he'd brought up the box from Home, one full of those presents, unable to show them to her but unwilling to leave them behind, each one meaningful to him.

Asriel had tried to hide it, embarrassed, but Frisk caught him trying to hide it. When he showed her, she cried, lunging for him. She took the box from him, dropped it to the floor, and hugged him, her face going into his shoulder - and his, into hers.

* * *

 But a few years before that freedom, Frisk felt... _weird_.

Unlike her peers, she didn't really care about romance, disinterested in anyone who tried with her. She usually was only noticed that way during romantic holidays, and each year, someone gave her a present, hoping to get her attention. She didn't have many - most were intimidated - but some fellow students did fall for her a few times.

She was always nice, especially if her pronouns were respected, and they ended up becoming friends, but she never _liked_ anyone. She found zero interest in everyone around her, human and monster, girl and boy, both and neither, alike.

It led her to the conclusion that she must be aro ace, and was fine with it.

 _Except_...

Suddenly, for the first time, at fifteen, she doubted it, her eyes looking through her lashes as she glanced at her parents as well as her aunts. Both couples had been through a lot, and neither had let go. There was a kind of light within their eyes, all four of them, that only lit up when looking at their lover. 

Frisk wished she knew what that was like. She wished she could be looked at that same way, despite being a human raised by monsters working as an Ambassador between the two peoples...

But when she applied to herself what she saw, and tried to figure out if she'd ever felt like that toward someone, it felt weird, upsetting, and she felt nervous about it.

She stayed up most of the night, trying to understand. Especially when her heart answered her with each scenario, offered her a solution that had been there all along...

But she couldn't understand, couldn't connect it, yet, and decided to try and ignore it.

* * *

That following Friday, she went to Flowey with his gift – this year, it was a water gun, both practical and a jab at him – and, when she felt the tug on her soul, she suddenly felt that strangeness. She was dreadfully slow, and dodged nothing.

Flowey had noticed, and popped up and stared at her, confused.

“What the hell is _wrong_ with you?” he demanded, though his eyes were on his present, one in a Christmas gift bag – she used the same one every year, not bothering to wrap it.

Frisk blushed. “I don't know!” she answered honestly, her face red.

She couldn't meet his gaze; her stomach clenched whenever she tried. She threw the bag at him, and he shoved his head in – and started laughing, genuinely amused by it.

At least, until he _realised_ he was showing actual emotion, and hurriedly covered it up by snarling.

“Har,” he decided, popping his head back out with a glower - though, again, he loved it. "Good enough."

Frisk's eyes flared, before she looked away, biting her lip. Inside, she felt her heart racing, knowing she'd seen real happiness, there - or amusement, at least...

Flowey peered at her, but she didn't meet his gaze. She was too scared that her emotions were obvious.

In a soft voice, she told him how this year's holiday went, and asked him what he wanted to read.

“No,” he answered sharply. “What the hell is wrong with you?!”

“Fine,” Frisk muttered, jumping to her feet and turning away, before breaking into a shaky run, calling her farewell as she did.

The next Friday, she felt _less_ weird, and soon, it eased, completely. She thought; she'd simply grown more adept at hiding - and ignoring - it. 

But that was the first time that she had – without knowing it – _almost_ admitted to herself that she actually already  _liked_  someone, after all.

 _Flowey_.

* * *

Asriel's first Christmas was beautiful, the best so far. He constantly cried, clung to Frisk the whole time, and fell asleep barely after eight (they opened presents on the Eve, and planned to a 'family thing' - Asriel's words - the next day).

“No, please,” he'd said, when Asgore tried to hand him a present. “No. Please?”

Everyone paused, looking at him.

Frisk nudged him. “Why?”

“I...” He flinched, looking down. “Don't want...” He swallowed. “I _do_ want them, but don't _deserve_ them.”

“Fuck you, Goat Boy,” Undyne growled, grabbing the gift from Asgore and tossing it at Asriel, which hit him in the chest and landed on his lap. “We spent money on you, and you're gonna _like_ it.”

Asriel was pale, his eyes wide and on Undyne. “But...”

“Do it,” Frisk hissed. “You'll eat spear, otherwise.”

It was of course a lie, but poor Asriel was still naive, and hurriedly opened it.

It was a black T-Shirt that said, “Flower Power”, in bright rainbow letters, across the chest.

Of course it was perfect; it was from Undyne.

He spluttered out a shocked, genuine laugh, covering his mouth for a moment, then turned away and buried his face into Frisk's shoulder, bursting into tears.

“Thank you; he likes it,” Frisk translated.

That broke the ice, and everyone – even Asriel – laughed.

From there, while he still hesitated, he still opened the presents given to him, and with each one, cried harder and harder.

It was no surprise that he'd fallen asleep as early as he had.

* * *

Nickname's first Christmas was... _tricky_.

Frisk was still recovering a bit, months after her brush with death, before and after Nicky was born; she tired easily, and winced whenever Nicky accidentally touched her injuries.

Nicky was more... _slug_ than baby, then, and never wanted to leave Frisk's arms. It was as if she knew Frisk would return to work at some point, and wanted as much time with her as possible.

And Frisk agreed, loving her baby girl with her entire heart and soul, wishing she could stay home, too.

The entire apartment was already stuffed with presents for their precious Princess Slug, to the point of having to return most of them, either as duplicates, or way too expensive for anyone's comfort. (Guess who bought _those_?)

Frisk had _begged_ for a quiet holiday, and no more presents for her or Nicky, citing the apartment infestation as her defence. Asgore and Toriel absolutely refused, and still gave them presents, but everyone else respected her wish.

Nicky was passed around a lot, but never lasted longer than a minute in someone's arms before starting to scream, as if she were certain that Frisk was _dead_ (a sad irony, considering).

Eventually, everyone gave up trying to soothe her. Undyne _especially_ tried, both stubborn and using every excuse to hold Nicky, for as long as possible. Even Asriel, who was not yet her favourite but still her own father, screamed at him (softer, though; that was true).

Nicky was happiest when she remained lying against Frisk, draped over her chest and facing her mami, her red eyes bright and on Frisk's face.

When, once she was again settled in Frisk's arms, their eyes met, Nicky began to calm down at once, the terrified panic replaced by soothed relief.

Nicky murmured softly to Frisk, looking very serious, and Frisk nodded, reaching up and drying Nicky's tears with her sleeve, making Nicky grin and wiggle – and Frisk smile, tears filling her eyes.

This was in silence, though Frisk had yet to notice, feeling so peaceful like this, so calm, with her baby, her daughter, her goatchild. She had everyone’s attention, now; this was the first time most of them (save Asriel, Toriel, and Asgore) had seen Frisk interact with Nicky that way, and Nicky, with Frisk, and they were spellbound.

Frisk said, “Is that better, sweetheart?” to Nickname, in Indonesian.

Nicky listened, her eyes sharp and her face focused.

“Hm?” Frisk coaxed gently, smiling at her and stroking her hair, bringing another shy smile. “Feel better...?”

Nicky's smile widened, and she toppled head first into Frisk's chest, her tail wagging quite happily.

Frisk laughed, and Nicky tried to copy her, making her laugh more - and Nicky tried more, delighting Frisk.

Suddenly, there was no one else but the two of them, and neither noticed that they still had an audience.

"Who am I?" Frisk asked Nicky, still in Indonesian.

Nicky raised her head, her eyes - so much like Asriel's - bright and eager to learn. Her ears twitched, and Frisk raised a hand to scratch one. Nicky slumped against Frisk, again, giggling with delight. 

"Tell me?" Frisk coaxed. "Who am I?"

Nicky looked at her closely, then murmured a small string of nonsense, all of which Frisk nodded at.

But when Frisk heard "Mami" in that small string, she froze, her face paling at her eyes flaring. Sure, she'd asked, but never expected an actually _answer_...

"Say that again?" she begged, her eyes burning. Her smile had never left. 

"Mami?" Nicky replied, tilting her head, her eyes bright and happy, because Frisk was happy, too. 

"Yes!" Frisk nodded, kissing her little nose. "I'm Mami! I'm _your_ mami!"

Nicky frowned a little at first, trying to push Frisk's tears from her face, but when she was kissed, she stopped and grinned, her fluff of a tail a blur.

“What's she saying...?” Undyne whispered to Alphys, trying not to interrupt it.

But sadly, Frisk heard her and jumped, holding Nicky closer to her, her eyes wide and startled.

When she saw everyone was staring at her, she went crimson and pulled Nicky up to her face, hiding behind her.

Nicky had a great deal to say about this, trying to climb up to the top of Frisk's head, and Frisk started laughing, despite how silly she felt.

How could she not? Babies _were_ silly, and reminded adults why it was _important_ to be silly, instead of growing out of it.

But the best part was when everyone came up to her and wrestled to hug them both, even as Frisk cried a little and Nicky frowned - before relaxing when she was hugged and kissed, too.

It was Nicky's present to all of them, Frisk above them all.

* * *

Basket's first Christmas was hilarious.

She was old enough to understand that  _something_ was afoot, and the second her eyes landed on the presents, she squirmed out of Alphys's arms and tried to crawl right up to them, moving so fast that she almost made it, too.

But Nickname blocked her, and Basket was immediately distracted by her, instead. She forgot about the presents, and grinned up at her cousin, holding her arms up. Nicky giggled and picked her up, and from there, they made it into a game: let Basket loose, then block her and carry her back.

Alphys filmed the entire thing, and it actually went viral, something that neither one would forget for the rest of their lives. That video became a meme, one still around when they were both old enough to understand, and long after, too.

And, unsurprisingly, when Basket did get to attack the presents, she only cared about the wrapping paper.

Nicky's gift was also perfect: a box of crumpled up wrapping paper, and it became Basket's favourite thing for far longer than anyone thought possible.

* * *

Olceal's first Christmas with Basket had changed him a great deal, for the better.

When his father died, and when Olceal was suffering through far more than any child his age ever should, there were no holidays, not really. They were muted, washed out, black and white to Basket's Technicolour, and when his suffering had ended, and his mother came back, it was still rather sombre.

Therefore, to suddenly walk into a house bedecked with decorations, the parents of his new girlfriend making sure he not only ate, but ate a bit of everything, stunned him. At that time, he was slender, and it was clear that he ate little, if he remembered to at all; his mother was working too hard to remember, herself, something he never blamed her for.

But the way he was, now, was actually an improvement. He'd been with Basket for several months, and almost as soon as he told Bass he loved her, he'd started gaining weight, for the first time, going from a malnourished kind of thin, to this new, healthier slenderness.

Alphys and Undyne _insisted_ on feeding him as often as possible (and even getting Tally’s say in it, making them friends for life; Undyne would cook extra for Olceal to bring home, for Tally, too).

* * *

 He'd been confused at first, not even realising _why_ he was gaining weight, but also worried about it, because his stomach looked weird, like little bolts had been carved into his belly. He almost told Tally, but didn't want to worry her, especially if it was something _really_ bad.

A few weeks after, he confessed to Basket his fears, she'd blushed, made sure they were alone, and lifted her shirt up a little, just under her bra. She had the same marks, and it surprised him so much that he touched them.

Basket had gone scarlet, even her ears, and she said nothing, not wanting to scare him away, because she liked his touch, a _lot_.

But he did pull back, his own face red, and she lowered her shirt, a bit disappointed.

“M-my mum says it's n-normal,” she murmured, her hands fussing with the hem of her shirt. “That it means your body's metabolism is slowing down, or you're gaining weight very quickly.”

Olceal was grateful, and he relaxed, hugging Bass to him, and she smiled and hugged back tight, closing her eyes.

* * *

 Now, however, he was passed around like Nicky had been, once, only not with him in their arms. He was introduced, hugged, and given something to eat.

By the time he was sitting down, he was dizzy, and his plate was heavy.

Basket was laughing, and when he heard that, he relaxed, and decided he really loved this family, and hoped he never had to leave it.

He didn't know it, yet, but they felt the same way about him; he got a hint, when he opened a great heap of gifts with his name on it, so overwhelmed and shy that he almost fainted.

Basket cried, too, but for two reasons: the same as Olceal's, and her own.

Nickname was there, and she looked sad whenever their eyes met, and Basket looked away, her eyes wavering with hurt.

Nicky looked away, too, biting her lip, and was very quiet for the rest of the night.

Whenever Olceal noticed, he touched Basket's cheek, and she looked at him and calmed down, her eyes softening and her hands going to his.

Next year would be better.

But for now, it hurt.

* * *

Their first Christmas without Basket really hurt Undyne and Alphys, and Alphys had even admitted that she wanted to stay home, missing Bass that much.

But they went, and the time was spent well, with an edge of sadness around it.

Nicky felt it, too, and rather keenly. She was so used to her rowdy cousin, running around, making jokes and crying over her presents.

Next year, however, they were lucky it happened at all.

* * *

It was a quiet one, that year, everyone too aware of how lucky they all were to even be together, let alone safely.

Everyone was still shaken up, Frisk and Alphys the most, and while Dandelion was a delightful distraction (she, unlike her sister, preferred the contents of the box, not the paper, an early sign of her differences – in many ways), she wasn't enough to forget how raw everyone felt.

All of them tiptoed around it, too afraid to bring it up, lest it hurt anyone. But in truth, the silence was worse than talking about it, and everyone felt it; one person felt it the worst, and surprisingly so.

After presents and before dinner, Dandelion crawled over to where Alphys was lying down – horizontal on the couch, on her back – where she pulled herself up and grabbed her dam's arm, squeezing it until Alphys stirred, slightly medicated and sluggish from it, her side throbbing.

Alphys met Dandy's eyes with her own, and Dandelion murmured something in her own language, her face scrunched up and sombre. Alphys smiled at her, nodding and blinking slowly, so she dug her fingers into Alphys's arm and pulled.

Alphys nudged her up and into her lap, but Dandelion frowned, trying to crawl back up to Alphys's chest.

However, when Alphys gently pulled her back down, Dandelion protested and tried again. She tried again and again, pulled away each time, upsetting her Instead of seeing it as a game, like Alphys had hoped. Instead, Dandelion started crying, looking more and more heartbroken each time.

When Alphys noticed, she stopped and held Dandy tightly in place, tight enough to keep her still and unable to move. It made Dandelion sobbed harder, trying to squirm away, her eyes on Alphys's face, and started to fight back, which hurt Alphys.

“Undyne...” Alphys tried, her voice weak.

Dandelion was getting riled up, and Alphys couldn't handle it much longer. Dandy's squirms jarred Alphys's injuries, and she felt guilty for making her baby cry.

Undyne walked over and scooped Dandelion up, both forgetting that Dandelion preferred Alphys, and Alphys, alone, especially when she needed to be comforted and feel safe.

Dandelion needed _Alphys_ , not Undyne, because she, too, had been frightened from what had happened. She was far too young to understand _why_ being apart from Alphys terrified her so much, and therefore had no other way of explaining it, save with vocal protests and trying to fight her way back to her dam.

When Undyne had moved Dandelion away and out of sight of Alphys, something that had always worked before, Dandelion _lost_ it. She _screamed_ , so loud that Undyne staggered with shock, the sound literally hurting her ears and disorienting her.

Dandy felt Undyne's hold loosen, so she tried to throw herself right out of Undyne's arms, her eyes searching desperately for Alphys.

Alphys heard everything, used to it by now, as sometimes, she needed to be alone, to heal. Those cries were the same kind as before, when Dandy was merely upset by the separation, but could also be distracted away from it easily enough.

 _That_ scream was not normal, and it had Alphys on her feet and lunging after them, just as Dandelion succeeded, jumping off of Undyne, scaring everyone and making Undyne cry out with terror, trying to grab her back.

Alphys caught her, and when she realised where she now was, Dandelion clung to her, her tiny claws biting into Alphys's skin. Her sobs were loud and heartbreaking, a sound that no baby should _ever_ make, and buried her face into Alphys's shoulder. Her sobs dragged out of her throat with each breath, sometimes catching and making her cough, before she resumed crying, again.

 _“Alphy!”_ Undyne whispered, turning around and going right to them.

Dandelion pushed into Alphys insistently, trying to hide herself within her dam's arms, afraid that Undyne would take her away, again.

When Undyne did not, she stopped, her eyes on Undyne almost the entire time.

“It-it's okay,” Alphys admitted softly, stroking Dandy's soft hair as she cried – and began to calm down from that. “She can stay with me.”

And indeed, she could, and did.

Alphys returned to the couch and cuddled with Dandelion, keeping her where she already was but merely shifting her to her uninjured side, always keeping a hand on her little back to hold her in place. Because she was finally where she needed to be, Dandelion went still and quiet, resting heavily between Alphys's side and the back of the couch. 

Soon, Alphys had settled herself, again, and was comfortable, with her other hand now stroking Dandelion's soft hair. In less than a minute of this, Dandy finally quieted down, feeling safe, again, at last.

Alphys smiled, then, her eyes filling with tears. She shifted Dandelion up higher onto her chest, away from her injured side, and her baby curled up and remained there, her eyes sharp and watchful, but her body relaxed and safe. Alphys nuzzled her nose with her own, and Dandy giggled softly and nuzzled back, the sound precious and going right to Alphys's soul.

When that happened, the atmosphere changed, into one less tense and wound up, as if finally able to take the tape off over their mouths, and speak.

Undyne walked over to Alphys and knelt down beside her, her eye wide and full, her expression pale with worry. She touched Alphys's cheek, and when her eyes opened, kissed that cheek right after, her hand going over Alphys's – the one upon Dandy's back.

Dandelion had been watching Undyne the whole time, but when this happened, instead of trying to squirm away, she stayed still.

Undyne pulled away from Alphys and looked at Dandy, who met her gaze right away. Undyne leaned down and smiled faintly, as much as she could, and kissed Dandy's cheek.

When Undyne pulled away, Dandy's hand was already closing over some of her hair, murmuring softly and tugging gently. Undyne spluttered out a soft, relieved chuckle, brushing her tears away – then Dandy's.

It was Frisk who said it, surprising everyone.

“We need to talk about it, don't we?” she wondered, her arms crossed. “We can't do _this_. We can't pretend it didn't happen. Because if we do...”

Frisk lowered her head, shivering. “If we do, we forget why _these_ moments are so precious to us.”

“You're right,” Asgore said, reaching over and touching her chin, to tilt her head back up. She met his gaze, her eyes wide and wavering, and he smiled at her. “We _must_ talk.”

So, they did.

Throughout the entire night, a great deal was shared between them, bringing them even closer together, like never before.

* * *

After that year, it became tradition to open up every Christmas eve, to spend time just sitting in one big room and watching the fire burn, or the faces of those around them.

There had been several years of worry, of fear, of feeling weak when everyone required strength. No matter what, everyone made sure they were at New New Home before the sun went down, and never failed to.

But that would change.

* * *

The very last Christmas they had as a complete family was one that nobody ever forgot.

By then, it was clear that Asgore and Toriel were growing old, and frail alongside it. They'd been slowly declining each year, that when they laid each yearly photo in a row, they could see its progression.

sans had been living with them for a few years, under the pretence of helping them out. Everyone knew the truth, but nobody said a word about it to him, because nobody had a problem with it, and felt it wasn't their business in the first place.

Toriel was _very_ quiet, and spent most of her time in Asgore's arms, while he remained horizontal upon the largest couch, not as quiet but still rather softspoken. Both were exhausted, having spent a great deal of time on preparing for the day, that by the time the sun went down, they'd fallen asleep.

Granted, everyone noticed and left them alone, and to their credit, they were very awake once called for, but it was a sign, their only warning, and they either missed it - or preferred to ignore it.

Not even Asgore and Toriel had seen it. If they had, they would have planned something even better, a perfect holiday, so that they would always remember it.

Their wish, however, still came true. They remembered that Christmas, everyone agreeing on the one photo that summed it up the best: the one of they two of them sleeping on that couch, Toriel curled within Asgore's arms, and Asgore holding her tight, even in his sleep.

It became one of their greatest treasures.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew. Lots of interesting stuff in this chapter. Get ready for more Abovetale lore, lol.
> 
> A lot of the events I discuss in this part will be written; just not in the way I'm sure you're all expecting. Or maybe I'm that transparent and you already know, and are wondering why it took me so long. Well, now you know. Stop asking!!
> 
> Also, I LOVE Olceal. Look for a whole chapter about him in the future!
> 
> EDIT: MY DEEPEST APOLOGIES FOR THE EARLY UPLOAD AND THEN SUDDEN DISAPPEARANCE OF THIS CHAPTER. I was VERY sick last night, and posted it when I meant to save. Here is the proper version.
> 
> I'M SO SORRY!

Their first - _celebrated_ \- Christmas without Asgore and Toriel had begun as they'd all expected: miserably.

But in a way that none of them had ever known, before.

Frisk woke up that morning with dread, her whole body cringing with grief, and she curled up, wishing to disappear, despite understanding why, and agreeing with it.

Of course she wanted to maintain that tradition, of everyone gathering at New New – _no, Solace_ – Home. She wanted and needed the company of their family, knowing how dangerous it was to be by herself, right now.

* * *

A few days after her parents were scattered, Frisk surrendered to grief, and refused to eat or sleep, similar to how she behaved after she'd almost murdered Carlson.

But this was much worse.

Frisk grew thin while off for bereavement, thin for the first time since she was _ten_ , refusing to eat anything and only drinking tea or water. With her chronic illnesses, she made herself very sick as a result.

Several times, she fainted, was hospitalised and held over night, until her stats evened out, and was discharged home.

Each time, she'd done the bare minimum in order to be discharged, promising to maintain it.

The second she got home, however, she resumed her self-flagellation, and started it all over again.

* * *

On the sixth visit, averaging one every three days, Dr Thicke lost her temper, and kept Frisk in the hospital as a inpatient.

When she realised it, Frisk retreated into her own mind and refused every treatment – and was given many, under sedation, and all without her consent. Asriel consented on her behalf; they'd prepared for this, both knowing how Frisk handled grief, and had made sure he would, if she needed it, and could – or _would_ – not, herself.

She stayed for two weeks, under _heavy_ psychological care and observation; halfway through the first, finally broke down and cried, letting the pain in at last.

When she did, she remembered that things were still good, and still worth celebrating.

Yes, her parents were – _again_ – dead, but _she_ wasn't.

And yes, they would not live to see their great-granddaughter, but Frisk wanted to, very much, and knew she needed to live.

Otherwise, she'd miss it all, after dying too soon.

After that breakthrough, Frisk remained lucid and present.

It meant breakdowns, that threw her down; or tantrums that _kept_ her down, the rage so debilitating that she had no other way to express it; or sobs that drowned her without any warning; or shrill screams, that begged whoever heard them to rip her heart out, to stop her from feeling anything, _especially_ the pain...

She couldn't resume control over her grief, but she knew she was safe, and still let it come.

* * *

When Frisk came home, she was still very fragile. Asriel called Nicky for help, knowing he needed her, but Frisk needed her, _more_.

Within that very hour, Nickname arrived; the second her foot touched the foyer, she began helping him take care of Frisk.

Frisk did notice, and accepted the help. Soon, they all realised that Nicky's help - if not from her presence, alone - actually accelerated her healing, and helped her recover more than she'd ever expected.

After, when she went back to work, Frisk was able to do so without breaking down - almost; she _did_ break down in the Chambers, many times. It was something she'd never done, before, and a part of her was sickened by how weak she was.

The rest of her, however, wondered why she was even _alive_ , anymore, and forced her body to go through the motions.

It was the first hint that Frisk needed to retire.

* * *

Frisk remained present, and, with Asriel, weeks before her own birthday, married her daughter to the child of two of her bestest friends _ever,_ to another, new child, who loved them both, and whose mother was now family.

Neither had ever known familial love for over a decade, and both had been starved to their last breaths.

Now, it was like a feast of all the foods both had lacked and sorely needed, and both Olceal and Tally grew fat with that love (especially, as mentioned, with Olceal, where it was literal; he gained at least ten or fifteen kilos in his first year as Basket's boyfriend, and Basket really, _really_ loved his new softness).

Whenever Frisk saw Basket and Nicky together, it felt _good_.

* * *

Nicky's open heart had actually left a physical mark on her, one easily found within her eyes. Beside Basket, Nicky's love for her transformed them both, but Nicky knew that _she_ benefited the most, knowing how lucky she was to have Bass.

Basket also seemed brighter; her eyes, always dark with memories of trauma, both her own and witnessed, sparked and glowed whenever they met Nicky's. It was a spark that Nicky felt as well as saw, and was always amazed that she could make Bass feel that way.

Then, there was Olceal.

The wild card. The one who began his school career by tormenting his future wives, unable to properly cope with the abuse he was suffering; the anger he used against everyone was the anger leftover from each attack.

All Olceal had ever _known_ up to then was loss and devastation. He was lonely, and hurting, and needed to get rid of it, but didn't know how.

He attacked anyone who reminded him of himself, because he could not beat himself - or his tormentor - up, like he wanted to, for being weak.

Nobody ever thought that his future was already entwined with Basket's, but it had been, from the very start. 

He grew up watching her, feeling her pain and hatred, seeing it as similar to his own. He never struck her again, after _she_ punched _him_  defending Nicky's honour, but he also kept watching her, realising that he didn't even _like_ hurting anyone, and had tried it because, clearly, _some_ people enjoyed someone else's pain.

His tormentor always looked happy once through with Olceal, and they  _knew_ that it hurt Olceal...

Sometimes, he helped Bass, making sure she never knew, as they grew older. Whenever he was too late to help her, he'd remembered whoever hurt her, and cornered them, one-by-one - and beat the shit out of them. 

He never got caught, because nobody noticed; _he_ was never noticed, save the times he was near Basket or Nicky - or Corala, a friendship that deeply shamed him, now - and that hadn't happened for a while. 

Despite knowing it was good, Olceal still hated hurting people, and always cried after, each time. He knew they deserved it, and it usually scared them away from Basket, his only goal...

But it still _hurt..._

Despite it, or perhaps _because_ of it, when the ends finally justified his means, Olceal decided that he (mostly) didn't care.

Because Basket survived it all; she showed Olceal that one could survive brutal violence and not only survive, but _thrive_. 

Without knowing it, Olceal thrived alongside her.

By the time they were friends, he was in love with her.

He knew she loved Nicky, and never tried to change her mind, _ever;_ polyamoury was commonplace in monster society. Most monsters figured that as long as everyone consented, the more the merrier. ("Or _marrier_ , am I right?!" Undyne once said happily.)

Therefore, it was easy for him to also know that her heart heart was big, and had the room to love Olceal just as much (and, in many ways, _more)_ as she loved Nicky. 

And Basket adored, before she loved, Olceal, and refused to hide it when she no longer had to, often bragging or gloating about him, and looking proud whenever they were in public, together. He knew Basket, and knew that _that_ kind of thing did not come to her, as she always fretted and worried, frightened that Olceal would hate her the moment he knew all of her. _She_ was public, because _he_ started it that way, and she loved it - and him.

In many, very important ways, he was first in her heart, and took up a great deal of it. She was happy with him, and he knew she could live the rest of her life with him, and _only_ him, and never regret a thing.

And he was right.

* * *

Nobody, least of all _herself_ , would have ever imagined Nicky marrying anyone, let alone two people - at first.

Once anyone (including herself) saw how Nicky's face changed whenever someone mentioned either of her spouses, that shock vanished, seeing that love as plain as day, unable to deny it. 

Frisk had accepted that Nicky was aro-ace, and loved her no less. She _used_ to secretly hope that her daughter would someday open her heart, but never expected it, and was absolutely fine if she never did. 

Therefore, marrying Nicky to someone at all was novelty; her marrying _two people at once_ was hilarity.

It was very good distraction, but it didn't - _couldn't_ \- last.

* * *

Undyne got shot on Frisk's birthday, and was comatose for five weeks.

Not long after that, Alphys tried to kill herself, and ended up in the hospital, too, trying to finish the job no one wanted her to finish.

It was only when Nickname told Alphys what her vision had meant, and what it meant for Undyne, that she began to want to live, again.

Alphys started coming back, and soon, was back at her wife's side, right when Undyne awoke in early November, malnourished and very sick, but alive. While she recovered, Alphys spent more and more time away, but was there when Undyne was discharged.

And when Alphys needed Undyne and sans, they came through - and changed _everything_.

For the be-e-etter (yeah-oh), indeed!

* * *

But through it all, it took up everyone's _time_.

When Undyne's coma crept into November, everyone agreed that they should just skip the holiday, or have it quietly at home.

They ended up doing the former, and they skipped that year, for the first (and only) time, ever.

Everyone had thought they would regret it, but no one did; all of them were in denial about it, and silently agreed that, even _without_ the shooting, they would never be ready to have a Christmas without Asgore and Toriel. (Undyne was _pissed_ , though; she loved Christmas, and needed her family around her, especially after that. Alphys made it up to her, herself.)

It was just as well, considering what happened when Undyne got home, and Alphys almost died making the cure for Endogeny.

Everyone had already been tense around Alphys since her suicide attempt; sans wasn't the only one who'd thought Alphys meant to kill herself _that_ way, too.

But Alphys had again survived, cured Endogeny - and rewrote history.

When Alphys was back on her feet as Headmistress, Undyne finally retired. She stayed at home, to both accustom herself to the leisure life, and to also be there for Dandy.

Therefore, the year they returned to the tradition was the _second_ year without them, and everyone had hoped it would've been easier to deal with, after over a year of distance from it.

Especially with all the achievements made over the year, most of which were thanks to Alphys, who worked tirelessly for _days_ , even while her own wrists healed alongside her freshly-mended heart.

* * *

But Frisk woke up that morning already heartbroken, and next to her husband, who was already in tears.

Both shared the same feeling: fresh blood.

After a year of scabbing over, it felt as if they'd been sharing a wound, one that had tried to heal itself, about to scar over - only to feel it ripped open.

Both felt as if they _were_ bleeding, alongside the first snowflakes of the year, threading macabre ribbons alongside powdered sugar from the clouds...

* * *

Frisk was still fragile, but went through the motions, buying the right presents for everyone and inviting all of them properly, like Toriel would have, crying while doing all of it. (Several paper invitations were smudged with her tears.)

Asriel wasn't much better, in all fairness, and was actually _worse_ in ways that Frisk was not. Frisk, used to working while emotionally compromised, worked without pause (even through tears). She _had_ to; most of her job was emotional and personal, and while it might affect her inwardly, she did her best to hide it.

Asriel _never_ could, and had spent much of his bereavement sobbing in the bedroom. He usually hid in the closet, where their parents' clothes still hung, and buried himself into them, desperate for their scents, hoping their clothes would always smell like them.

They did, but not for as long as Asriel had needed them to.

Often, Frisk would join him, sitting in his lap and crying into his shoulder, while he held her tight and cried, too.

* * *

Undyne and Alphys also felt a little crunched by grief, but Undyne bore it better than Alphys, ironically enough.

If asked, Alphys would admit that Undyne was far better with grief – or _any_ emotions, really – than Alphys was, and everything that had happened the year before was proof of that. (Her scars were still red, and still healing, and she made a point of never hiding them, to remind herself.)

Alphys still felt rather crumpled, her eyes blank and unfocused, constantly spilling over. She curled up in one corner of the loveseat, pretended her eyes were on the TV, and went silent, save the occasional sniffle, hiding her head and face beneath her hoodie. She grieved like a child would, lashing out when being told to “cheer up”, or asked a question, or touched without warning, or hiding in weird places.

(Undyne found her: once on the roof; four times in as many trees; the attic and the fireplace once each; underneath the front porch at least a dozen times; and, most often, in the crawlspace in the basement, where it soon became a sort of refuge for her - the entire point.)

Dandelion was the only exception,;Alphys held her within her arms. Dandy pressed closer and buried her face into Alphys's shoulder. Alphys held her, on-and-off, the entire night, but not because Dandelion begged her to; she didn't because, Alphys loved Dandy, and loved comforting her. Dandelion was young, and _did_ need the comfort, but she was also aware that Alphys did, too - and had since she was conceived - and wanted to comfort Alphys, too.

Dandelion especially needed Alphys close by, because she missed her mum, a great deal. She loved and adored Undyne, and was closer to her than ever before, even loving her more for it.

But for Dandy, she still _needed_ Alphys, her heart and soul restless and scared until she was in Alphys's arms, alone.

Once there, no matter what, Dandy felt safe - and so did Alphys. 

Undyne was different. She was just as crinkled, but she was able to keep going, thanks to her retirement. In fact, that was the point: she _had_ to keep going. She _needed_ to be busy, _always_ busy.

She still felt pain when they walked up the driveway, each holding (or, in Dandy's case, dragging) a bag of presents, and looked up at how the house was decorated.

 _It isn't the same, already_ , Undyne thought, her face falling.

It wasn't as if she felt sad by Frisk as Asriel living there, because she wasn't; she loved it.

Rather, it was not right, because nothing would be that kind of right, again.

And it made her sad.

Once Undyne was inside New Solace Home, she went right to work, filling in for Asriel alongside Frisk in the kitchen – and even picking up the slack for Frisk, when needed, desperate to make this perfect for everyone. She knew it was a losing bet, but she didn't care.

Over the rest of the day, whenever _anyone_ tried to help, even Frisk, Undyne kicked them out (once, literally: Undyne shoved Basket out by the rear with the flat of her foot, making Basket scream, "Give me some _eggdamned godnog,_ you insane mother creature!!" – and everyone else laugh).

This (even the screaming) ended up becoming part of their holiday traditions for years, to the point of Undyne snarling at Frisk "to get lost or eat spear, human" in her _own kitchen._

Undyne would eventually take over all preparations, finding a real knack for it, her time at hope spent preparing all month (year, in bits and pieces) long for one night a year. Frisk had no issues, especially when Undyne proved to give even Mettaton a run for his money (a bet he would lose, too).

It got to the point that Undyne, with Alphys and Dandy, slept over the night before, in order to have the time to do everything from the very start of the day, while the rest of her family slept, or watched. She preferred it that way, and threatened anyone who tried to interfere. She softened it by kissing or hugging them, of course, before ruining by it throwing them - sometimes _literally_ \- out.

Dandelion stayed with Alphys, cuddling her and focusing on her for most of the night, worried about her.

Alphys was in pieces, but when it came to her children, would roll in glue to get back together, in order to be there for them.

Dandelion knew, and that was why she did it in the first place: to be here for Alphys, so that Alphys could be here for her, too.

Even as a grown adult, she _always_ would - and Alphys was always happy, always kissing her forehead, before Dandy curled up into Alphys's side, her hands in her lap, or holding Alphys's, her other around Dandy's shoulders. 

Always.

* * *

When Nicky, Basket, and Olceal arrived, that night, things changed, almost right away.

Nicky walked in first, calling for her parents, and Bass jumped in after her, shivering with cold. Olceal was clinging to her, and tumbled in with her.

All three collided – and fell to the floor, into a pile on the floor of the foyer.

By that time, Frisk and Undyne had reached the doorway, and when they saw that, both stopped – and burst into laughter, Undyne taking pictures of it and Frisk leaning against Undyne for support, doing the same.

Alphys went over and helped everyone get to their feet, her tears actually stopping thanks to such a distraction. Dandelion had followed, and scowled at Basket, even as Alphys tugged Bass, then Olceal, to their feet.

“That's _not_ okay. If you do _that_ , you have to say _it_ , Bassy!!" Dandelion snapped, her arms crossed over her chest.

Her eyes remained on Basket, who was now pulling her coat off and hanging it up, snow falling from her clothes in clumps.

Basket when scarlet, but, to Dandy's delight, sighed out, "Why am _I_ always part of ' _the_ _pile_?'"

When Dandelion shrieked and grinned, then laughed and clapped happily, her tail a pleased blur, Basket felt shy, and hid behind her coat in the closet for a minute, before Olceal tried to pull her free.

Instead, Basket dragged him in, and shut the door behind him.

Every looked at Nicky, even Dandy, and she blushed, too, when she noticed, trying to act casual when removing her boots (but inside she felt giddy and scared).

As she did, she closed her eyes, and remembered what they'd agreed upon on the drive here, making her hesitate.

* * *

Olceal had been shy, asking if he could pretend that no one knew, but Basket told him how asinine that was, considering that they were already married.

“If we act like we've got something to hide, it'll just make everything awkward,” Basket had snapped. “You _know_ how hard this year is for our parents, Olly. You know how happy they are, when they see the three of us, together!"

Nicky had raised her head, her eyes dark. “They _need_ this,” she'd concluded, and Basket nodded. “They've had a complete year, trying to cope with too much grief. We _owe_ them this.”

At that, Olceal agreed.

* * *

So, now, once Nicky's boots were off, she shrugged her coat off and walked to the closet, knocking on the door.

It opened, and two hands - one smooth and green, one fuzzy and brown - reached out, pulled her in, then shut the door.

Alphys was the one who broke the tension, gasping out a surprised laugh, when she realised fully what had just happened.

Dandelion, sitting beside Alphys and clinging to her leg, saw and heard how _real_ that had sounded, and felt herself feel a little bit better; her smile started out as only for Alphys, but soon widened and included _everyone_.. 

Nobody moved while they laughed, until Undyne grinned and rolled her eye, stomping over to the closet and throwing the door open with a shout of triumph.

All three had tried to hold the door closed, and all three toppled out,  _again_.

Undyne pulled them to their feet and hugged all three, keeping her face averted from them but holding them shakily, her nails digging in a little too hard to be considered normal - even for her.

Olceal looked at Basket and bit his lip, but she smiled; she'd been right, and Olceal was apologising. But the last thing Basket wanted was _that_.

“Nicky!” Frisk then cried, pulling her away from Undyne and hugging her. It hadn't been _that_ much time between visits, but it felt like it to Frisk, and she didn't let go for a while, both immediately lapsing into soft, whispered Indonesian.

Undyne made small talk, asking Olceal how the drive was, as well as asking how their jobs were, and if it felt better, for all three. Both Basket and Olceal had been able to cut back on hours even since Nickname moved in, and wanted them to, so that they could relax, and not have to work so hard, and for so little. As a monster-human-relations diplomat, Nicky made more than their salaries _combined_ , and insisted on paying for nearly _everything_ ; they'd stopped refusing her after she lost her temper, and started to cry.

Nicky so rarely cried that way, her temper usually mild and easygoing, her patience very high. Therefore, when she did, everyone knew it was important, especially to Nickname, and in a personal way. 

It was love, and gratitude, above all. But it was also guilt, and fear, in one thought she had from the start.

That she'd ruined a marriage, and was terrified of losing them both - and they, each other.

After that, they didn't bring it up, not wanting to upset Nicky, further. 

Undyne brought it up, now, her voice low and her ears sharp, and they discussed it; by the end, all three were crying, then laughing, then doing both.

Nicky didn't notice, because she realised that something was wrong; she walked into the house and down the hall, toward her parents' bedroom. She knew where her father was, and why, but also knew that he was needed out here, more.

But before she got too far, she felt a hand close over her wrist: Alphys.

“L-let me talk to him,” Alphys whispered, her eyes full, again, something Alphys barely noticed, herself. “I... H-he's...”

Nicky, however, stopped her, getting it. “You're right,” she agreed. “Thank you, Auntie."

Alphys nodded and kissed her cheek. “You're a good daughter, Nicky,” she added, her hand squeezing Nicky's.

Nicky bit her lip, blushing; she knew Alphys meant it for herself and Undyne, too. She hugged Alphys, hesitating for a moment, but when Alphys hugged back and stayed quiet, Nicky inhaled slowly, and closed her eyes, lingering for a moment.

Then, Nicky pulled back when she could, her eyes opening slowly.

“Good luck, Mum,” she replied, smiling.

Alphys was the one hiding her face, then, hurriedly rushing down the hall and into the master bedroom, making only one very soft squeak before she vanished behind the door.

Basket touched Nicky's other cheek, and Nicky turned to her - then jumped with surprise. Basket was in tears, speechless, her hand pointing to Nicky, then down the hall – before pointing to her own heart, and bursting into tears.

As soon as Nicky's arms closed around her wife, Undyne suddenly wrapped her arms around them both, again hiding her face from them but quite obviously crying. She'd heard what Nicky had said, too, and _had_ to hug her daughter-in-law.

It was one of _the_ mother-in-law _rules_... that Undyne had made up for herself.

Basket sighed. “My mother, the clamjammer, everyone.”

Immediately, Basket was in a headlock, and Nicky was hunched over and laughing – something both Olceal and Frisk noticed – and smiled at. Olceal moved over to Nicky, but Frisk stayed where she was, before her eyes went to the front door, and she went to it.

Because it was so loud, when it shut behind her, no one protested.

* * *

Alphys knocked before she went in, but called for Asriel as she did, closing the door as quietly as possible.

She'd heard him sniffling, but when he heard her voice, he'd gone quiet.

Then, “Alphys...?”

She followed his voice, and found him in the closet; he'd opened it when he heard her, and was now sliding out the door. She waited, and he closed it, his head lowered, so that his face was hidden by his ears, and the shadows.

His shoulders shook, and his tail was limp. He tried to speak, but couldn't; his throat was too dry. He wasn't angry that it was Alphys; he was _grateful_ , something that still surprised him, despite how much things had changed between them.

They'd been close, before, especially when Basket was born, and closer, still, when their daughters married.

Now, she was Headmistress, to his Groundskeeper, as well as all of the aforementioned. There was no question that they loved and trusted each other, but in every way but one: romantically.

Yet they were still close, and knew each other very well.

They were the same, just as Frisk and Undyne were, when it came to grief: their wives were strong and determined, and handled grief almost insultingly well, so long as they had a way to power through it.

But Asriel and Alphys couldn't do that. It wasn't that they lacked the strength, because they certainly did not. And when forced to, they _would_ smother feelings for as long as possible (though Alphys did this more than Asriel).

In safe situations like this, however, made them unable to hold back.

When certain things were safe enough to let their guards down, they did, and got out as much as they could, while they could, until it hurt less.

They knew their wives understood this, and also knew that they let their guards down for them, and usually them, alone.

Neither wanted to be comforted, yet. Both had a great deal more tears to shed, and had learnt over the years, that sometimes, the only ones who can handle your grief are those unable to handle their own.

Until then, there was always more and more work to do...

Both envied their wives that, deeply, and painfully.

Asriel dropped to his knees, but Alphys caught him before he fell forward. She held him up, but did not help him stand; he was too tall to hug her the way he needed to, and this was their only way. Judging by the way Asriel immediately latched onto her and buried his face into her shoulder, he needed her.

A lot.

Alphys broke down, too, and felt Asriel try to comfort her, which made her try to reassure him. The kindness they felt for the other was immense, making them both cry even more.

For both, it was bittersweet.

No other words were needed or exchanged, after that.

* * *

When Toriel was scattered, Frisk told sans and Papyrus that they were welcome – and encouraged – to stay with her and Asriel, and forever, too.

Papyrus had agreed, as he rather enjoyed the house, but, after a month of staying there, rarely leaving his room, sans told him they had to move out.

Both Frisk and Asriel protested, and both were sincere; Asriel knew sans would never try anything, and trusted him more than he ever had before, or even thought _possible._  Frisk was no longer terrified _of_ him, but _for_ him, whenever he left or was alone, at any time...

But he said no, and meant it. He moved out – and Papyrus followed – and moved back into the apartment over Grillby's, its owner still brightly lit.

When Undyne got shot, however, things changed, again.

* * *

Papyrus and Mettaton had been spending more time, together, at one point both realising that their bestest friends were close to death, and both were terrified. It had brought them closer, and in the other, found someone so strikingly opposite – but in all the best ways.

It left sans aimless, confused, and living alone for the first time in this life, especially when Papyrus would often go along with Mettaton on his tours, for months at a time.

When Papyrus came back, each time, he was unchanged; that much was true.

But sans hadn't realised how much he'd grown to depend on the company of another person in a place he considered home.

* * *

Both Papyrus and Mettaton were on their way, due to arrive in an hour, but sans had yet to even respond to Frisk's _initial_ message, the one that invited him over in the first place. She'd asked Papyrus, who did report that sans corresponded with him, but _only_ him, and usually only when he “remembered it”, Papyrus used air quotes, forgetting his gloves in that moment.

* * *

Naturally, Frisk was concerned, and rather hurt.

 _After all that we've been through,_ she sighed, wrapping her coat around herself tighter and crouching on the front porch.

When she did, she exhaled smoke; her cheeks flushed red, but not with embarrassment or heat. She closed her eyes, then sat back onto her rear, leaning her tired back against the wall and taking another drag - one that lingered...

She _hated_ this stuff; most of the blush was anger, the fact that she had to depend on a drug to get by, something she swore never to do, after knowing first-hand what it did to people.

The irony, the _hateful_ irony, hurt especially much this night, because she was once again an orphan, smelling weed in the air and getting dizzy from it, making her an easier target...

But Athena had insisted.

* * *

The way it was used, now, as a medicine, was the kind that Frisk was _not_ used to dealing with. The smelly plant she was sent in the mail was to help with her pains and aches, bone and muscle aching in concert.

“I'm not giving you morphine, because you shouldn't put your liver or your kidneys at risk, right now, not to mention your gut,” Athena had snapped, writing the prescription down angrily. “You don't have to or need to _smoke_ it to get its benefits, Frisk.”

“Why do I have to have it at all?” Frisk then muttered, not moving when Athena held out the slips of paper.

“ _Because_ , Frisk.” Athena's voice had grown soft, in a tone she hadn't heard, before, but would get used to as time went on. “You need _relief_. You're working too hard. And if you insist on doing that, you need to take _something_ to soothe and help you.”

She'd waved the paper, again, insistently.

Frisk then told her _why_ she didn't want it, hoping it would stop Athena, change her mind, give her nothing, even...

But after Athena hugged her, crying a little, she still murmured, “You're nothing like them, and never will be. And..."

She hesitated, and Frisk frowned. "And...?" she repeated, confused.

Athena paused, then sighed. "Asriel's scared, Frisk.”

Frisk stiffened, her eyes flaring.

Athena pulled away, and added, “ _He_ called _me_ , Frisk.”

Frisk closed her eyes, one hand going to them, rubbing them with her sleeve.

Her other hand was held out. Shaking, but held out.

 _That_ was all she'd needed.

* * *

Of _course_ Frisk took it and filled it.

And when Asriel asked her to, after weeks of avoiding it, she tried it.

It made her cry, because it _worked_.

She cried, now, sniffling between each breath and trying not to make a sound. She cried, both for the joint in her hand, and the fact that sans had abandoned her, over things she didn't do.

Frisk didn't like bringing up the past, especially with sans.

But she truly felt like he owed her this: one Christmas, just _one_ , without her - _her_ , not _his_ , in any sense of the word - parents.

He owed her empathy, and shared sorrow, and tearful laughter. He owed her embraces, horrible puns, acerbic wit that made someone throw something at him, to break any and all tensions...

But he wasn't here.

She had no clue where he was, because he didn't even want to talk to her.

All of her calls went to voicemail, before the mailbox filled, and he never cleaned it out. Were it not for Papyrus, she'd though he had died, too.

And she understood that: parts of him had died with them.

But so had parts of _her_.

She hated him for a moment, one of many moments, perhaps too many moments, more than he deserved another chance from, and another, and another...

But even when he tried to murder her, she'd never hated him as much as she did right now.

She dropped the spent joint, stood up slowly and stomped it out, before taking a moment to collect herself, to clean her face.

When she felt she had done enough, she moved to go in.

“really, frisk. pink kush? grow a pair and upgrade to gsc.”

Frisk stopped, still as a statue, feeling like her heart had stopped, too. If she hadn't been stoned, it would have knocked her out. And because she was stoned, she wondered if _this_ was a result of _that_ , too.

A silence fell between them, one that they both felt rather keenly – especially when Frisk decided not to bother hiding it.

 _“shit,”_ sans sighed, the second he felt it. He leaned forward and rubbed the back of his skull. “okay, kiddo. i deserve tha--,”

She wheeled around and faced him, her arms stiff at her sides, her fists shaking, wanting to punch him, needing to punch him, to _hurt_ him, to make him feel as abandoned as she did...

“You deserve _worse_ ,” she snarled, her voice soft. He flinched, but kept his eyes downcast, and his hand in place – though it went still. “You deserve so much worse, and you know it, which is why you're here, right now, like _this_. You _know_ you fucked me over, more than a dozen times, and yeah, you helped a bit with Alphys and Undyne, but even then, you were a complete asshole to Alphys as you did! _What the fuck is wrong with you?!”_

During this, sans lowered his hand and raised his head, his eyes getting dimmer and dimmer with each word.

When she swore, he flinched, knowing how hurt Frisk was from that, alone.

And... she wasn't wrong, either.

“I should slap you just like she did,” Frisk went on, her face red and streaked with furious tears. “I _should_. Hell, I should fucking trap _your_ soul, kill it to seconds, and then let someone else sew _you_ back up! Like _you_ fucking did with _me_!!”

She was shouting. That last sentence was one she screamed out, her voice breaking on ‘you' and ‘me'.

“You hate me so much,” Frisk added, trying to lower her voice, but still unable to shut up. “That you got to spend _their_ last years closer to them than anyone else, including _their own children,_ and you leave me behind, _knowing_ I was bleeding, _knowing_ I was breaking, and crying, and starving myself, and for _what_?! _For fucking what, sans?!”_

He didn't answer.

 _“Why?!”_ she shouted, her heart racing so fast it hurt, and yet she couldn't stop.

She _couldn't_. She had to get it out. He deserved to know how much it hurt when he'd left her, so _easily_ , and how doing that only made it all worse.

If he'd stayed, if he'd bothered to linger when things calmed down, she would have forgiven him on the spot. She would've forgiven him _everything_ , if he'd just shown up when she asked him to, just _once_ , _just one time_...

…and he still failed her.

He kept failing her. 

Frisk was fifty-one years old, and she kept thinking, hoping, _begging_ , that he would still surprise her, that he would come through, going by someone else's terms – _for once, just once!_ – and when he was needed, most...

He never did, and she still let him hurt her.

Each time, she felt that disappointment anew, and then marvel at how _stupid_ she was – only to do it again and again and...

 _Asriel's right_ , she thought, unable to speak, now. _He_ is _a bastard. He is a selfish, meanspirited phony._

_Why do I keep falling for this?!_

_Why do I let him do this to me?!_

_Why does he do it to me, at all?!_

_Why can't he just love me, like everyone else, and stop punishing me for not loving him like he wants?!_

Even now, he said nothing, when she needed him to speak.

She'd asked him.

She wanted an answer.

She needed an answer.

But he said nothing.

So she turned around, let herself back into the house, and locked the front door, turning the porch light off and drawing the curtains.

* * *

And when he was alone, in the cold dark, a relief to how he felt outside, he fell to his knees and curled up.

 _Let me cry,_ he begged, whoever or whatever had thought it was fun to give him feelings, but no means to expel them. _Let me cry! Please! I need to cry! I need to!_

He did not. He could not.

And he knew that, even if he could, despite needing to, he still _would_ not. Because being unable to week made him suffer, and now that he knew the extent of the damage he'd done, he _wanted_ to suffer, because he knew he deserved it.

He did _not_ , in fact, deserve it.

* * *

 Over the years, sans had made grievous mistakes, especially when compared to how everyone acted around him: as though he was a time-and-space mastermind.

Even Frisk, too, had once assumed him to be that way – especially when she experienced that power firsthand.

But sans _wasn't_ at all what everyone had thought him to be.

By now, his family knew, but most of the public – especially outside of Ebott – did not. He'd helped raise their children, giving him all the answers, showing how weak he was, but nothing changed.

He did not deserve to be treated as someone he wasn't, and never asked to be.

He was a person, just like everyone else.

His powers were extraordinary, but also incredibly weak, taking away one health-point at a time. He only truly used it, once – in _this_ life – and that was against Frisk.

He'd run away, because the two people who'd known from the start how full of shit he was were now dead.

They'd been the only ones who could understand that power – and that judgement. They knew how it felt to use power they hated, too, and they also knew how to heal after being forced to use it.

And they'd taught sans, too.

He'd forgotten about Asriel; he'd forgotten about Nicky.

All he could see what what he no longer had.

* * *

 That was the only reason why, after maybe five minutes, that he heard the door open, just a crack, and remain that way.

When he'd heard the doorknob turn, he scrambled to his feet, hoping it was Frisk, needing it to be Frisk.

It was.

And when sans waited, Frisk met his gaze, her own still teary; she'd also sat in the dark, invisible, while her family did their own things together. 

She opened the door wider, to show her face, one that was only a bit taller than his own.

A tiny child.

A tiny teen.

A tiny mother.

A tiny _matriarch_ , her powers the exact opposite of her appearance – and all without any magic.

She waited, silent. Her eyes stayed on his, waiting for them to go out, either to leave – or attack her. His look was the same as the one he'd warn when he told her she _had_ to die.

Repentance, for something he knew was wrong, but that he felt he'd had to do. He'd been so wrong, a wrong that almost killed a lot of people, and he knew he needed to be the one who did the work, this time.

Frisk had always done it in the past, because she loved him, and wanted her friend back.

He needed to do this, now, to prove that he wanted his own friend back, too.

So, he hesitated, before he moved closer, and held out his left hand.

Her eyes went to it, starting to tremor, and his hand shook, too.

It wasn't enough – they both had hoped it would be – until sans finally spoke.

“please,” he begged, trying to move closer, still holding his hand out for hers. “frisk, _please_. you're right; i _never_ should've left. i... didn't even _want_ to. but it felt like i _had_ to, because the grief...”

His voice wavered, surprising them both, and inside, Frisk felt that place in her heart for sans soften, again.

Just not all the way.

“I know,” she agreed, her voice hoarse from shouting, surprised that no one had heard it (thanks to Dandelion, who was angry at there being way too much stimuli in the house, and needed to focus on one thing to stay calm.

“you do?” he wondered.

She nodded, her jaw set for a moment, clearly holding back.

“Yeah, I do,” she confirmed. “You _always_ fuck it up, don't you? We just don't see how _much_.”

His laugh was fake, but his words were real. “yep,” he agreed. “everything i've ever done, was done from guesswork and panic.”

“Including this?” she wondered, her arms crossed. Her voice, however, sounded as normal as he'd heard in years.

He smiled, this time for real. “yep.”

Frisk hesitated. “sans, I’m not a little girl, anymore. I'm a grown woman, with grown children. You can't keep _toilet-seating_ like this!”

When sans heard that, his hand dropped, and his eyes searched her face.

She had no idea what she'd just said, save that it was the kind of thing she remembered Toriel would say.

They were.

Those were the exact same words that Toriel had said, before he'd moved in.

He knew he could never hope for another relationship like he'd had with them; not with Frisk or Asriel, no matter how close they were.

For a moment, he wondered, trying to picture Frisk in his life like he _used_ to, and could only see Toriel the most, but Asgore, too.

He loved Frisk, but his full heart was now closed.

For the first time in many, many, _many_ years, he looked at Frisk, and only felt familial love.

The only kind she'd ever wanted from him, the only kind he could never truly give her.

Until now.

And Frisk saw it.

She saw that change, knew what it meant, and her arms uncrossed, her eyes wavering; she could no longer duck behind a curtain of hair, and wondered, after all of these years, why she tried to, now.

But she already knew - they _both_ knew - why, now.

And when she stopped trying to hide, she covered her mouth with one hand, keeping herself silent. She didn't want anyone to get between them, yet.

Slowly, Frisk raised her left hand; it shook harder than sans's had, but sans immediately reached up and took it into his own.

Nothing happened; no pranks, no intense emotions.

Just two friends, finally reuniting after one hurt the other, and finally wanted to correct everything bad done, to get that friend back.

At the same time, they embraced, Frisk bursting into tears, despite her small smile.

 _Finally_ , she had her best friend, back.

And finally, he _wanted_ to prove to her how much that meant to _him_.

So he did.

* * *

When sans walked in with Frisk, everyone stopped, stunned, before they went over and took turns hugging him.

Well, except Dandelion, who looked over and pondered joining this, and decided it was still too much, and went back to the TV. (she would hug him, later, when he asked her what she was watching – and listened to her, something that earned her respect, when nothing else had before.)

When Alphys brought Asriel out, most of that remaining of tension lifted, the second he realised that sans was there. He already looked ready to cry, again, but his face changed, especially when looking between sans and Frisk, seeing Frisk's tears and knowing that sans was responsible at once.

But then, he saw what Frisk had seen, he stopped. 

(Alphys walking into him by accident. She got so embarrassed that she hid behind Undyne for an hour; she'd accidentally touched his butt, and while he'd noticed but didn't even flinch, much less care, Alphys still hated that kind of thing.

But nobody even noticed Alphys, except Undyne – who always noticed Alphys.

All eyes were on Frisk, Asriel, and sans.

Not even Undyne greeted sans, yet, also slightly angry at him; he'd avoided her, too.

For a moment, nobody spoke.

Then, “What the _fuck_ are _you_ doing here, you _bastard_! The _Alpha_ bastard! No, the _Omega_ bastard, because you don't deserve first place of _anything_ , _you fucking cu_ \--!"

Frisk had crossed the floor and covered his mouth gently. His nose wrinkled a little, smelling the smoke and ashes on her fingers, but he went quiet, and when he kissed her palm, she released him, smiling.

That had also been the first time, in far too long, that Asriel had said anything like _that_.

Bitchy Asriel had been missed, indeed.

sans shrugged, throwing his hands up and winking – somehow. “that’s where i've been: in the fuckhead fraternity.”

Dandelion's ears twitched when she heard this, still hotwired to detect cussing, but she didn't even look over. It was still too much.

But everyone else relaxed, Olceal even chuckling a little, before they realised that, with that, the ice was broken, and, for good.

And once Papyrus and Mettaton arrived, both dragging a bag of presents each, the mood was lifted as high as possible.

Soon, they were even _laughing_ , especially when Nicky mentioned one thing.

“Olly's been making Floor Pie!” she accused, pointing her fork at her husband and grinning at him slyly.

Olceal reddened, feeling very shy, as he hadn't been prepared to talk about it, and was now on the spot completely unprepared.

While he hid in Basket's shoulder, Basket grinned and kissed his nose. “It's true.”

Frisk smiled at Asriel, who also blushed, and couldn't believe how quickly she'd figured it out.

“How was it?” Frisk wondered, her smile still in place.

“Even the few that looked like shit made my teeth orgasm,” Basket replied calmly.

Olceal suddenly wished he could hide under the table - and tried.

It brought a laugh, a good one, even when it clearly brought to light what they were all still missing, and how heavily it felt.

Despite the weight, they still tried, and while they sometimes failed (a _lot_ of crying went on), it was a _very_ good holiday.

Especially when eyes would drift to Undyne, or Alphys, remembering with painful clarity how close they'd all been to losing two more of their beloved family members, in as many years...

Who would leave them, next?

It was a thought they all had at one point, one that remained as such for years.

But they didn't lose; they gained.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Personal note: I recently had a procedure done that has severely incapacitated me. I don't know how long it will take to recover from it, and thus I don't know how I need to deal with it. I spent 90% offline, for many days, before suddenly having fanfic blue lips midway through - and still feeling like shit. And indeed, a lot of that depression is felt in this story.
> 
> But the last chapter, the one I know will be the most important of all, will be posted, and this story will be done on the first day of the new year (I promise I mean solar new year, not pagan...). 
> 
> Thank you, for caring enough to read this, as well as sifting through this depression-fest for the happy ending. The sweet will definitely made the bitter cry. :P


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoa. The first chapter of an Abovetale story in the New Year! I hope, since I ended last year with the bitterest of all, I want the new year to be only faintly bitter alongside an explosive mouthgasm (not mouthwash, auto correct). 
> 
> Also, take a sneak peak into Abovetale's possible future, with future stuff I've never mentioned before! Enjoy!
> 
> Lastly: please go back and reread chapter two. I took it down and reedited it into something so much better than it was, while keeping the way it was intact :3.

Over the next few years, things were rather difficult, when looked over with hindsight.

Frisk wasn't okay, and hadn't been for a while, now. If asked, she never really had a baseline, or a definitive moment, of when things stopped being okay for her.

Even she didn't really know or understand how she could ever tire of the life that she had, now, despite its trials and stresses. She looked back, sometimes, and wondered how - and never found the answer.

It was the wrong question.

* * *

From the start, when she realised how... _important_ she was, for the first time in her entire life, she became a champion.

At ten, when asked to help bring humans and monsters back together, she remembered literally jumping forward, toward the mayor and out of Toriel's reach, and declared her intent.

She and her new friends were in the emptied hall of the Chambers, where they stood across from the humans in charge of the surface, and only Frisk lacked fear.

“I know I’m young, and not that smart--,” Toriel had, unknown to her, looked at the mayor, then, and both smiled gently; they knew Frisk was smart. “—but I know _them_ , I _know_ them, please, and... and I… I know it's weird, a kid being in a seat of government...”

She'd trailed off, going red and looking away, trying to think of how to justify that, when even she knew how insane that was.

Kids weren't leaders, didn't govern, for a reason, and not for the sake of intelligence.

It was about innocence. No one deserved to be corrupted that young.

“It's weird,” Frisk repeated, looking back up. “But... there have been kids who've been kings, emperors, men and women and neither, they all followed kids, because kids would be in the bloodline, and blood means more”

She frowned, but no one interjected, not even Undyne.

“That's a bad example,” she realised. “I don't want to be controlled by adults, just because I am young and in a leading role. I want help, and guidance, of course, please. But not control.”

Toriel and Asgore had smiled, and actually looked over at each other and shared it, thinking the same thing: Frisk's manners were so sweet. (But then, Toriel went red and hurriedly looked away, and Asgore sighed, his gaze lowered back to his feet.)

“Because I think I _need_ to be young,” Frisk then said, unaware that she was now speaking aloud what would be her mission statement. “This new alliance is so very young, and nobody really knows or remembers what to even _do_. We're all my age when it comes to that. We're all growing up. So I have to be young, so that our growth can be represented by my literal growing up. Right...?”

She paused again, but this time, despite the question in her words, no one answered. They couldn't, because, unknown to her, again, was the awed silence that greeted that statement.

It was that statement that not only proved just how smart that idea was, but also how smart _Frisk_  was.

Frisk had no experience in politics, and had never been interested. Yet here she stood in a place where a politician was meant to.

In doing that, she reminded the adults around her how important it was to keep their mind open, and malleable, like a child's was, to be more perceptive to the inevitable change.

It was a new world, now, one that had failed within adult hands. Now newborn, they needed soft, smaller hands to help, lest _their_ hands, worn and calloused, with scar-strengthened skin, held too roughly, and shattered it without wanting to.

Unsurprisingly, Frisk was hired.

And true to her word, she was as she promised: honest, open, and eager for what she knew was her destiny.

* * *

For someone who'd never even considered understanding the adult playroom of politics before she fell, Frisk was a pro – and in the best way: not in a political way.

Frisk was the anti-politician, something that either frustrated the Old Boys, invigorated the Grits, or, the best, somehow united them both, simply because her arguments were that good – and truly, everyone won.

She found it so _easy_ , which amazed everyone, really – except herself. She was simply herself: honest, smart, kind – and also rather... badass. She simply took no flak, refused to allow the ironically childish behaviours of her peers get to her, and fought tirelessly for what monsters needed in order to survive with humans.

The monsters knew, and when they saw that progress was slow, but still progressing, they trusted her. That trust buoyed her up, and kept her fighting, and soon, over a few years, had achieved for them almost all that humans already took for granted.

Frisk never failed to live up to her mission statement, the entire time, for her entire time as Ambassador.

And that was the problem.

* * *

Before everything changed, Frisk turned fifty-five.

In the morning, Frisk was the first to wake up, in at least a decade, and when her eyes opened, she already felt wide awake – alongside exhaustion, a ghost that had been haunting her since her - second, _best_ – parents died...

She looked over, and saw Asriel, still deeply asleep, and she turned on her side, her heart skipping for a moment. She rested her head back onto her pillow, smiling faintly and reaching out with her feet; she touched her toes to his, and he moved them closer to hers – while still deep asleep.

That wasn't usually the case; years of fear and worry had trained Asriel to always wake up first, or wake up the second Frisk did, or a second after.

 _He's exhausted, too,_ she realised, her smile fading. She looked closer, and as she did, her smile returned, unable to help it.

Asriel aged rather well; both of their parents were large, in height and body-size, but Asriel somehow remained slender, in a muscular kind of way. Like Asgore, he had a great deal of muscle, and from a younger age, thanks to his job.

But even with that muscle, and even when he stopped growing and started filling in, he never grew fat, or even very large. He was tall, always, but his body type was slender, and always had been (he'd been teased as a child for being “delicate”, despite his good health).

 _I'm fatter than him_ , she realised with a muffled laugh. She wondered if she should be upset, but she wasn't. She was a small woman, and was thin and tiny when Toriel adopted her, but with love and care, she grew up – and out.

And knew it, too.

* * *

Her “siblings” had always called her a skeleton, unaware that she was such a thing because of their behaviour; she was rarely fed, and if she was remembered, was given a fifth of everyone else.

Plus, the extra irony of that, and her future with real sentient skeletons, kept her dryly amused when looking back. (It made Asriel sad.)

During that perfect first sunset, however, Frisk thought of this with absolutely no humour.

Her day in the Underground was the first day in her recent memory that was not plagued with hunger. She was given food, or sold food, and didn't have to fight to eat it.

Panic flooded her whole body, making sure it wasn't visible to anyone else, because she realised that she had no home, anymore. She hadn't even remembered that until she was back on the surface; now, it threatened to throw her, yet again, off this mountain.

Toriel had noticed her silence, during everyone's flurry of words, and once they were alone, asked Frisk if she wanted to be their ambassador – and if she had somewhere she needed to be.

Frisk was startled, her eyes flaring wide as they met Toriel's.

_I have a choice...? I can choose?_

_This... this isn't over...?_

“Yes,” she blurted out. “I want to stay with you.”

Toriel lit up, and laughed gaily, touching Frisk's head, her touch so gentle that Frisk didn't even flinch when touched, and didn't move away. She declared the irony of Frisk's answer, but accepted.

Frisk had a home.

* * *

It wasn't as easy as that.

It took time for Toriel to legally adopt her, let alone live on the surface, and it was painful at times, forced apart at times for stupid reasons.

However, Frisk realised that Toriel, from that moment, had adopted her, already, and she really did have a home with Toriel. She lived with her, went to human school, and fought in the Chambers on weekends and two weeknights each week.

Toriel fed her, from that first slice of pie, and never stopped until Toriel, herself, had stopped.

And she knew how to feed a child, and well, too.

* * *

At first, it confused Frisk. The moment the door closed behind her, Frisk suddenly jumped, waking up at once.

Toriel and Frisk had just returned Home late that first night, after hours in City Hall. It had taken _so long,_ every single human shocked by this new reality, and they'd been forced to linger, for the media.

By the time they were back Underground, Frisk was starving, her eyes heavy and her body clumsy, clutching Toriel's hand loosely. Toriel offered to carry her, but Frisk knew if she did, she'd instantly sleep, and didn't want that, yet.

She didn't want the day to end.

Now, however, she suddenly found herself afraid. She lowered her gaze, pulling her hand back and averting her face, as if she'd been holding Toriel's hand without asking – or Toriel wanting her to.

Before Toriel could say a word, Frisk hunched over, hiding her face, before she felt herself walk forward, blindly, so confused that she forgot where she was, and who she was even with.

She knew the drill: come home, don't talk, and go to bed hungry, certain she was waking up to reality, and had been dragged back to hell yet again after trying to escape it.

“Frisk?”

Frisk jumped, raising her head and paling, her eyes bright and scared. She met Toriel's gaze, shivering a little, and swallowed hard. She tried to remember, to see Toriel as Toriel, hear her name as it now was, but could only see misery.

 _“Katherine!!”_ she'd heard, the voice thick with loathing and a promise of pain.

Toriel was alarmed; she'd never seen Frisk look like that, not even through the worst moments, and didn't understand it, yet. She had no idea what Frisk had run away from, or why she had. She just knew that she saw a child who needed a mother, and had found one in her, human or not.

Frisk trembled, realising that she needed to speak, but so confused that she didn't know how. Her eyes unfocused and went to the side of where Toriel stood, and she bit her tongue to keep herself from crying, deciding silence was better than tears.

Toriel's heart cracked, then, when she saw that. She recognised it, knew what it meant, and it nearly broke her heart.

She knelt in front of Frisk, not touching her, but keeping her hands visible, in her own lap. Frisk watched her, flinching, again, and tried to shy away, to make herself as small as possible, to make her harder to hit...

But Toriel didn't touch her.

Instead, she kept close, but in away that showed Frisk that she was safe, and not trapped. Frisk was breathing quickly by then, the sounds raspy, and it saddened Toriel further.

“Oh, Frisk...” she whispered. Frisk still started, but didn't try to move away. “Frisk... can you hear me...?”

Frisk nodded right away, knowing that if she pretended otherwise, she'd only get hurt worse, and not at all, like she'd hoped.

“Frisk, do you need to be alone?”

It was that question that helped Frisk to snap out of it. She was only asked rhetorical questions by her “mother”, and knew better than to answer.

But Toriel's voice was clearly kind, and patient; there was no hidden, passive-aggressive tone to it, and the question itself was also strange.

 _Need to be alone...?_ Why would she ever, save maybe using the toilet, or sleep? Since her aunt died, she'd never been alone, never had privacy, or dignity.

What she needed was to never be alone, again, and least of all by this person before her, now.

“No!” she blurted out quickly, suddenly terrified that Toriel would mistaken her fear, and throw her out...

Toriel closed her eyes, for longer than a blink, when she heard that, close to tears, then. She understood it – especially when Frisk jolted, and stood up taller, holding her hands out, as if hoping to touch her once before she left her.

Frisk still shook, so confused, the panic in her eyes awful to see, especially after being so brave and fearless, mere hours ago. She tried to speak, but knew if she did, she'd cry. She knew crying was weak, and knew it earned abuse. But she had to speak...

Toriel raised one hand, holding it up between them, as if Frisk was about to spit her gum into her palm or some such thing. Frisk's eyes followed it closely, swallowing hard, but she didn't run – especially when Toriel kept it still.

Then, Toriel heard it, the same time that Frisk felt it without hearing it, and Toriel's ear twitched, blinking.

“Frisk,” she murmured, just as Frisk wrapped her arms around her middle. “Are you hungry, child?”

Frisk stared at her. Admitting hunger was weak, too. She knew that, and also knew that admitting it was not allowed.

But she was slowly starting to dig her way out of this shock; the longer she stood in the doorway of Home, the easier it became to shake free – and remember she was free, now, and because of the person kneeling before her, now.

* * *

Toriel had asked her that, before, and had even given her food that she'd asked for, to eat and enjoy, just for her.

She took the Floor Pie, her heart racing when she saw it, as if knowing how significant it was, already.

But she didn't eat it. She was too scared that, if she tried, someone would steal it from her. Nobody tried, but she still hesitated. Even when she ate other food, she kept that slice safe.

But she'd had to eat it, when she didn't want to, knowing that if she did not, she would die: before Asgore, about to fall to his feet.

She ate it too fast; it was delicious, the best thing she'd ever had, already, and she couldn't even enjoy it, despite wishing she could. It made her cry, something Asgore noticed – and when he saw why, he was as disarmed as she.

Food wasn't just fuel. It was that, and so much more. Like humans, monsters loved their food, and expressed themselves through it, despite needing it for different reasons.

The moment Frisk tasted that pie, and Asgore saw her do it, they both felt what it stood for: Toriel's loving care, and wish to protect, and nourish, but also cheer up, the one who ate it.

She always did, and even while merely watching someone else eat it.

* * *

Frisk remembered that, remembered that joy, how much it healed her, how it gave her strength.

How selfless Toriel was, even while being at her most selfish...

She wanted to savour the pie, now. She wanted years to appreciate it, on every single layer, and keep being surprised.

Toriel wanted her to, and in a happy way, too.

Frisk slowly relaxed, allowing her senses to remember Home, and nodded slowly, feeling embarrassed, now. She hated that Toriel looked so sad, that she could easily guess why Frisk had been triggered, and she hated herself, too.

Toriel was a source of joy, and Frisk didn't think she deserved it.

Toriel smiled, then, her face relaxing and lighting up her eyes, and slowly, making sure Frisk watched, she moved her hand forward, and touched Frisk's shoulder.

When Frisk relaxed instead of tensed up, Toriel nodded, and gave it a squeeze.

“I am, too,” Toriel admitted, which also helped relax Frisk. She didn't want to eat in front of Toriel without sharing it with her – and missed the irony in that, too.

At first.

* * *

Toriel made them both a sweet pie, as Toriel had eaten the other one over the day, and both dug in when it was still probably too hot to eat, and it made them both squeak and complain – with grins.

Eventually.

Frisk was given a piece – a generous one – and didn't touch it, waiting for Toriel to start (she'd been taught impeccable manners by Maine, and never forgot them). It would usually cost her food, so when Toriel did start, she did, too – and realised her piece was still untouched.

She blinked, tensing briefly and expecting to have to fight for the crumbs, before she started eating it – but fast, still.

Too fast.

Again.

By the time she was done, she realised she'd rushed, again, and hadn't savoured it like she'd hoped.

Her face fell, and she leaned back, about to get up to put her dish away, when Toriel blinked.

“Frisk, you only had one piece,” she said, startling Frisk. “Are you full?”

“Am I what?” she echoed, perplexed.

“Full, dear,” Toriel repeated, feeling another sinking in her stomach when she understood this, too. “Are you hungry, still?”

“N-no, I ate!” Frisk protested, holding up her empty place. “I promise, I appreciate it!”

Toriel, under the table, made a fist, her arm shaking a little. “Thank you, I’m glad,” she said carefully. “Would you like more?”

Frisk opened her mouth, then closed it. She hesitated, before she stammered, looking painfully hopeful, “I'm... allowed _more_...?”

In that exact moment, Frisk's life changed forever, a change that would leave a permanent mark upon her, one that suited her very well, indeed.

Because Toriel silently promised Frisk that, starting now, she would never, ever have to doubt that she could have more.

She promised that Frisk would never again know starvation, malnourishment, and weakness; that she would never hesitate to eat, but know she was welcome to linger; that she would soon forget what it felt like to be starving to death, without even knowing it...

That she would never again be able to count her own ribs, while lying in a tiny bed, her stomach so empty it no longer bothered to ask for food, her eyes dark, and dim, and always out the window, far away from here...

That she would always know love, and never doubt it, and thus never had to fear being starved as a punishment...

And Toriel kept them all.

* * *

As a result, however, it would leave that mark upon Frisk: extra weight.

About a year after living with Toriel, Frisk had filled in – and out. She didn't keep very much on as a child, always busy and always running around, and yet still never starving...

By the time she'd stopped growing, she was a _bit_ fat, but in the best ways it can be. She was short, so once she'd hit her maximum height, and still ate normally, her stomach became round, and her arms and legs lost their almost stick-like definition. Her face became rounder, too, and it made her look her best; her smile was wide and sly, lighting up her entire face and making her eyes spark.

While her curves were larger than most, she was still a bit modest in places, and could still move as fast as ever. She was finally at her best weight, for the first time in her life, and it suited her in ways no one had even expected.

She'd gone from a slightly-slender, gangly-limbed, short kid, to a less-short, even-limbed, soft young adult.

She had stretch marks, and jiggled in places, and ate whatever she wanted, but that wasn't all. She was ambivalent about make-up and fashion, and very rarely did much when it came to removal of body hair – she was the kid of a monster with fur; Toriel had been bewildered when Frisk asked.

As a result, she wasn't, perhaps, a poster-child of _conventional_  (read: boring and dumb) beauty, being short, plump, dark-skinned, and dark-haired;  the norm was the exact opposite. And she knew it, and even got teased for it.

But Frisk _liked_ it. A lot.

Alright, she _loved_ it.

She loved how she looked, because whenever she saw herself, she didn't see the little girl she'd once been. That girl was gone, forever, with her name and birthday.

This was Frisk as she was always meant to be, and she knew that – and loved it.

Frisk had doubts about herself, but not when it came to her looks. She was proud of how she looked, and didn't care what anyone thought about it.

 _Mostly_.

* * *

For the very first time, Frisk hesitated before her reflection, the thought coming to her, at last.

_What if he doesn't like how I look...?_

Frisk had sworn that she would _die_ before ever thinking those words, for any (or no) gender, human or monster.

And yet her she was, in her underwear, hesitating and asking it.

Despite her confusing feelings, as Flowey, Frisk could pretend that looks were pointless, as was the idea of Flowey that way, and was able to shrug the urge to ask him - pointless.

As _Asriel_ , however...

It was the night of the day she'd been cleared by her doctor, and she was healthy enough to work, again, and the four of them were going out to supper to celebrate, and...

 _And_...

Frisk felt herself break into a nervous sweat, panicking.

_And Asriel is wonderful, and I adore him so much, and I want him to know how grateful I am for helping me recover..._

But she didn't know that, on the other side of the wall, Asriel was doing the same thing – except that Asriel was crying, and Frisk was not.

Asriel both loved and hated the fact that Frisk was officially back on her feet. He wanted the best for her, but didn't want her to leave him alone. He wanted her to be happy, but was unhappy, himself, without her.

He loved her, too, and didn't want a sister.

Not anymore. Not with her.

He wanted a _partner_...

And so did she.

But she wanted him to... _like_ how she looked.

All while not even realising that Asriel not only loved how she looked, but always would, no matter how her looks changed over the years.

* * *

Therefore, when Asriel realised how she felt, he corrected her, from the start. Because he'd seen it, from the very start – during that depressing morning, one that became a heavenly afternoon...

There were hints, on the way home – Frisk hesitating, before taking his hand, or lighting up to hold onto him, before blushing and trying to look calmer, uncertainly emanating her with every action.

She knew how she felt, and knew it was true, and real. And she knew he felt the same, but without the same kind of doubt; Asriel lacked it, because he assumed – _correctly_ – that Frisk would not want him if she didn't like his looks, too.

Once back home, he finally understood her hesitation: she lingered only on her clothes, and nothing else.

When she hesitated, her eyes flicking away and her face falling, her fingers shaking.

By now, words were pointless, as actions spoke louder.

With these actions, she was _screaming_ , and he now understood why.

So he took hold of her hands, and helped her undress, himself.

In fact, when her hands hesitated too long, and he knew why, he gently pulled them away, and replaced them with his own.

Before he did a thing, her hands covered his, and they did it, together.

Each time, Frisk was terrified, her breaths shaky and fast, her eyes on his face the whole time, scared of rejection, expecting it, awaiting it...

But Asriel was so wonderful, especially when he made his true feelings clear, with how long and focused he was each time he touched her.

Soon, Frisk began to calm down, to the point of leading his hands, then letting go once they were in place.

He never changed his mind.

* * *

So now, she was a grown woman, and still as happily fat as she was back then.

And in return, she made sure that she not only knew he was strong – but also enjoyed extra food, his job physical and demanding.

And yet, she knew that he moved a little slower, now, and slept a bit heavier, too. He needed sleep, always had, especially since he was prone to insomnia.

She swallowed a sad sigh, her eyes closing for a moment.

The fact was, lately, he'd been a bit sluggish, and it worried Frisk.

Despite what happened last night.

* * *

The night before had been... something they hadn't felt in many, _many_ years.

Neither had even thought about it, even after the diagnosis that Frisk could not – or should not – have children, anymore.

Frisk had started menopause ( _or was it pre-menopause?_ she wondered drowsily, now) the year, before, and they'd never thought of it then, either.

For most of the night, Asriel had been quiet, his face red, and Frisk wondered if he was getting sick.

He wasn't. He was remembering _that_ one night, and realised that he'd mostly forgotten how intense it had felt, or if it even had been as much as he'd remembered.

Tomorrow was going to be busy, he knew, and knew Frisk would be too tired to do anything the night of. But he still wanted it to be a birthday present, like he did every year.

Lately, he'd been a little worried about her, and tried to do as much as he could to make sure she got enough sleep, and usually made love on the weekends, or rare days off.

This would be a nice change, and a fun gift; why not make it even better? And if it was as intense, they would both need the sleep; they usually made love on the morning of her birthday.

By the time they were getting ready for bed, Frisk was very worried, and was watching him closely. Asriel knew, and felt bad, and while he tried, he couldn't act any other way, not and keep it a surprise.

When Frisk had settled, and Asriel sat down, she said, “Asriel, what's wrong?”

Asriel stopped, then slowly finished sitting down, suddenly finding it a trace difficult to sit down easily. “Nothing,” he replied, meeting her gaze at last, still bright red.

“Then why...? Oh... _oh..._!”

Frisk had started to ask, but Asriel reached over and took her hand between his – and concentrated, their fingers lacing together. His magic touched her skin, and she actually swooned, her eyelids fluttering – but her smile real.

“Yeah...” he agreed, moving so that he could slip his other hand along – then over – one of Frisk's breasts, and she shivered, her breaths growing shaky. “Because of the... baby-pause-thing...”

Frisk laughed softly, realising she'd forgotten that he'd said – and explained it – when she first was diagnosed.

“You're so cute,” she whispered, leaning over and brushing her cheek over one of his, her other hand touching his shoulder.

“I looked it up,” he admitted, and Frisk realised she was still a step behind. “There's no risk. There hasn't been, not since we had Nicky. So I was thinking... Tonight...?”

When she laughed again, she'd caught up, and had counted how often they'd missed out.

Their eyes met, and Frisk beamed at him – and nodded.

He was right, about several things.

It was more intense than he remembered.

They did need the night to recover.

And it would also become a birthday tradition.

* * *

Therefore, it wasn't hard to understand why Asriel was so tired.

 _Or_ , she decided, _why I’m so tired, too._

It was what she decided to allow herself to think, despite remembering one thing about last night that had almost tipped her off.

By the end, she hadn't fallen asleep, or post-coital passed out..

She'd fainted.

* * *

It had been happening for a while, and Frisk pretended that it was a combination of grief and age. She was right, but she refused to accept the gravity of both, pretending they were mere sneezes, these faint spells.

It was why she didn't mention it to Asriel, despite the fact that she wondered if he already knew. She wasn't going to, because she wanted this birthday to be wonderful.

The fact that she'd woken up first, at all, seemed to reassure her that she didn't need to tell him, because it was no big deal.

She watched him sleep for a moment, then carefully slipped out of bed, to get ready for the day.

But it was a big deal, and thanks to it, their plans were already ruined.

* * *

Less than an hour later, Asriel stirred awake, reaching for Frisk, so that he could hold her as she woke up, needing her time.

But her side of the bed was empty, and cool. It woke him up, and he jolted out of bed. He realised, as he got to his feet, that nothing _seemed_ to be wrong, except that Frisk was already awake. But that wasn't wrong – he saw it as a good sign, too.

Except his stomach was upset, and his ears twitched, walking toward what he soon discovered was the shower, and going to the bathroom door, leaning against it.

He heard the water, and could feel that it was warm – but now cooling off. He blinked; how long had she been in there? Long enough for the water to cool off?

_Maybe she's tired, from the night before, and is soaking, taking her time?_

He tried to pretend this was good, the silence meant she was just standing there, or sitting there, enjoying the water.

He knocked and called for her, then walked in, deciding that he wanted to share a nice soak, too. He went in, keeping the door open to let out the steam, and as it cleared, found her.

She was curled up in one corner of the shower, sitting up, her legs crossed and her body leaning against the wall, looking very casual and relaxed, like he'd hoped.

But something was wrong about it.

She hadn't moved, the entire time. Not even when he pulled the curtain back.

He jumped in, then turned the water off, kneeling down in front of her. Her head was resting against the wall, too, but with her forehead pressed heavily into it, her hands limp upon her knees.

“Frisk?” he called, taking hold of her chin and tilting her head up carefully. “Frisk!”

Her eyelids flickered, and she twitched, through her entire body. He tapped her cheek, and her eyes opened, not seeing him, before they closed, again.

He wrapped her in a towel, picked her up, and brought her back to their bed, burying her beneath blankets, the air already so chilly in mid September...

When she warmed up, she woke up, and it was that alone that kept her from the hospital.

But it also kept her from anywhere else, too.

Asriel thought it was his fault, and Frisk had been furious with him, correcting him until he, too, accepted it.

She knew it was her fault, and she was furious with herself, too.

And a few days after that, when she'd pretended it had never happened, and worked like it hadn't, she went to bed that night – but did not wake up, again, the next morning.

* * *

Frisk took it hard, harder than she'd really expected. She realised that she actually never thought she would ever retire, that she would die on her feet.

Wasn't she, after all, an important person?

Truly, the one born to do it, the only one who truly could...?

She was ashamed, when she realised that she always thought that she would be the only Ambassador they'd ever need.

But it wasn't true. She wished it so, but sadly, after forty-five years, both peoples still needed a moderator.

Nickname, she realised, was the _true_ Ambassador; she was merely getting it started, for her, so that she could do what Frisk had not – and could not, now.

She thought only she ever could.

It never occurred to her that Nickname could - and, she soon saw, do it better than she did.

Frisk knew this, because she trained her to do – and be – better than she ever could be, herself. She saw how Nicky was in the Chambers, and saw how easily she took to it.

While it was true that this _was_ partly due to being a diplomat, Nicky was a good diplomat because of who she was, too.

Frisk had feared she'd feel resentment, or self-hatred, as if she'd failed, and was piling all of her useless and unsolved problems onto her own daughter.

But she didn't.

When she saw how easily Nickname took to the job – and then seemed to be born into it (the truth) – Frisk found only affection, pride... and _hope_... when thinking about Nickname in her place.

Part of it was just Nicky.

But the rest had also been that year's Christmas.

* * *

There were secrets kept held, both from Frisk and by Frisk, but there was no strain.

For the first time in several years, the atmosphere was rather relaxed.

The usual melancholy was there, and always would be. But there was also a great deal of promise, too, that had happened most recently, and helped buoy up that mood.

Frisk was retired, and had started her memoirs.

Nickname was the new Ambassador, and was being trained by Frisk to be, but even she admitted that the job really did seem made for her.

Plus, both Nicky and Frisk were the two people aware of the fact that, some time soon, Nicky would have a daughter. It added a secret layer of excitement that cheered them both, especially when they both talked about it in rushed Indonesian.

“The language of secrets,” Asriel observed lightly, the second he first heard his two favourite women start to chat in the living room.

Nicky was still wearing her coat, and was holding Frisk's hands and talking very, _very_ fast – and Frisk replied the same way.

Basket and Olceal hugged Asriel, greeting him with, “Howdy, Dad”, and a kiss on the cheek. They knew his pain, but to be fair, Asriel had suffered it _far_ _longer_ than they had.

When he heard the three arrive, sans finally emerged from his room and sidled down the hallway.

Undyne, who was of course in the kitchen, heard him and snarled, “Opportunistic prick!”

He shrugged; she had him, there. He hated helping, and preferred to arrive once everyone was already there, so that he could start with presents, not small talk.

Dandelion had tried, all day, to bother him until he woke up and helped. She wanted his room, whiny whenever she slept in the same small room as anyone, even her parents, despite the spare bed in there being more comfortable.

It was the lack of space; it made her anxious. It didn't last, though; when it became to much, she remembered that _Alphys_ was there, and her arms were always safe.

For some reason, it cancelled out the invasion of space, and everyone was relieved - even sans.

She still tried, though; when he sauntered out, she glowered at him, then pretended he wasn't there. She knew he hated it, which was why she did it (but that also wouldn't last, thankfully).

But he his timing was right; when he got there, and had been hugged, the night truly became real, and started at last.

* * *

Once more, their routine was reset for years to come that night.

Undyne's food was usually the highlight, because finally, at last, she was the chef she'd always wanted to be. She'd been taking classes, and finally learnt how to cook. And because she was Undyne, she also had to best the entire art of cooking as a result.

Therefore, every year, their family would discover delicious foods, getting better and better each time, thanks to Undyne's enthusiasm. She didn't want to be a professional; she just wanted to be the best chef for herself, and her family.

This was the first night, and yet the food was still wonderful, and even Papyrus was impressed, despite having surpassed her quite some time ago.

When he did, Undyne suddenly realised she left something in her eye – in the kitchen, and would be back. Everyone politely ignored the fact that when she came back, she had nothing.

Frisk had been worried that, with all of the changes, it wouldn't be fun, and would ruin the entire mood.

But instead, the mood was at its best, the best it had been in at least five years, and thanks to those changes.

Everyone was happy.

For once, they saw how much better Frisk looked, already, and realised how much the old Frisk had been missed.

And truly, Frisk had missed her old self, too.

She truly thought that _nothing_ would ever beat this, and had cried the second all of the guests had left, laughing at the same time.

She'd forgotten Nicky's vision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I will be writing "that" chapter in the Friskriel collection sometime soon.
> 
> And yes; there's at least one more chapter, so uh... see you tomorrow! And I'm sorry e_e


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be one more chapter, and then we're finishing this. I have more stuff to write, even as my entire life crashes and burns and destroys me! Yay!

When Asgore died, nobody was Santa.

The last year he was alive, Asgore had dressed up in the costume, and while he was too tired to run about like he used to, he did give presents to his family. He gave them slowly, and shakily, but always smiled at whoever was being gifted, and always got a hug back.

Since then, the costume remained untouched, in the linen closet on the top shelf.

Not even Undyne touched it, and one year, she literally cleaned New Solace Home from top to bottom, the clutter driving her crazy. Even when she admitted to herself that it couldn't hurt to try, when she tried to wear it, she stopped, halfway into the pants, and started sobbing, before she put it away, and hid in one of the spare rooms for a while, to cry it out. She'd _wanted_ to wear it, for the others, for their smiles and lighter hearts, but now she knew better: it wasn't the same, and it hurt to much to even _think_ of it, let alone _try_.

Asriel, however, struggled with this for six years in a row.

Frisk had watched him do it, always a week before Christmas, so often that, during the fifth year, Frisk followed him, and copied his hesitant actions, one second after – and perfectly.

She did it mostly to watch him closer, to see his expression whenever he paused at the closet, and looked up, his hands held in front of him but never reaching up...

He didn’t even notice, until Frisk spoke – that was how upset it made him.

“Love,” she whispered. He jumped, still, even when she accompanied the word with a hand to his back. “Why do you do this to yourself...?”

Asriel closed his eyes, his empty hands finding her, and held onto her tight. “I'm... It's not like I enjoy making myself miserable like this,” he admitted.

Understandably, Frisk doubted that. They both knew how prone he was to self-punishment, and used it to make himself suffer when he felt he deserved it, the only one who did.

He _never_ deserved suffering. Least of all _this_ way.

Frisk sighed, then slid her arms around his waist, pressing her cheek against his back. He felt his eyes fill up, with tears he'd promised not to shed, but he failed. Before Frisk could pull away, he covered her hands in his, and she smiled weakly.

“I see this,” he murmured, his voice thick. “I see the box. I know what's in it. I don't... I don't know how it would even _feel_ to wear it; the whole time I’ll just be thinking what a fucking _fraud_ I would be if I did.”

“Why does that make you a fraud?”

Asriel closed his eyes. “I'm not Dad. I never will be. I never _could_ be. I _want_ to be, so much, but even with his crown and his shovel, I’m just... an _imposter_. _Everyone_ knows that Dad was Santa. Always. Even after Chara and I died...”

Frisk was quiet, her eyes open and dark. She hugged tighter, starting to understand this – and something else similar.

Something about Nicky.

* * *

It was about halfway through Nicky's interim period with Frisk - though at the time, they only thought it was a quarter.

The day had been _bad_.

Frisk had had to step in for Nicky several times, and it had caused them both anguish: Frisk's was worried, while Nicky's was uncertain and scared.

They left, both rather sadly, but before they did, they lingered in the parking lot, alone. Once they were certain they had privacy, they talked about it – but in Indonesian, just in case.

Nicky murmured, her eyes downcast, “Mami, what if I _can't_ do this...?”

Frisk was shocked.

Yes, the day had been the worst yet, but Nicky had weathered through it very well. It was only now, as they got into Nicky's car, and before she started the car, that Nicky asked this.

“Why would you even _think_ of something so foolish, let alone _believe_ it?!” Frisk demanded.

Nicky blushed, then answered, “I can't be you, Mami. I can't do what you do. I never knew you did _so much,_ and I can't carry it. It's too big, and I’m too _weak_.”

Frisk let her finish, though she was angry. Her eyes stared ahead, and when she was quiet for a while, Nicky looked over at her. That was when Frisk answered.

“I'm not asking you to be me,” she said carefully. “I'm asking you to be _yourself_ , in a position that was once mine.”

“But Mami, it's the same thing,” Nicky protested, her eyes back on her hands.

She was spinning her black ring on her middle finger, trying to keep calm. It was a spinner-ring, now; her first one had broken, after decades, when she'd accidentally hit the back of her hand too hard against... a flat, ironic surface, which made the old steel crack, then split.

She could've still worn it, with it glued, as she still loved it. She tried, and it wore off in the shower; she almost lost it down the drain...

Nicky still had it, in a special keepsake pouch-necklace. When she saw, Basket declared that they would get a new - stronger - one. There'd been so many; coloured steel was apparently was a growing trend, and it overwhelmed Nicky, trying to choose. Basket had been the one to suggest the spinning aspect for the new one, to help keep Nicky focused or calmed in her new and stressful situation. Basket also paid for it; _she'd_ been responsible for the events that cause the other to break, after all. 

Frisk sighed, closing her eyes and leaning back. One hand absently rubbed her chest, at the spot close to her left her breast. She couldn’t feel the scar, but knew it was there. She always would.

“It is,” Frisk answered at last, her eyes still closed. “I understand your fears, Nickname, especially during days like this, when they treat you like a fool. They want to bully you, to break you, so that you'll be easier to use as a bridge.”

Nicky bit her lip, nodding.

“Yes, I had to step in,” Frisk agreed, “but not because you are weak, or not suitable for the job. I had to step in, because they don't know how to listen to you, yet - to _hear_ you."

And here, her eyes opened, and met Nicky's. “ _You_ need to teach them, Nickname. You need to remember that, while you are part of their team, meaner teammates are going to try to push you back onto the bench. You have to prove to them that you're not only a _good_ player, but also that you are, and _always have been_ , MVP.”

Nicky was stunned. Frisk had said it all in a calm voice, her words soft, but sharp, too. She also knew that Frisk spoke from experience, and from a younger age, too.

Nicky got it, then. She wasn't _supposed_ to be Frisk, or act only how Frisk would. Nickname needed her own identity, and she needed to make it clear that she _was_ new, _and_ different, but was still the only one suitable for this job. (So far.)

Nickname wanted to prove it to Frisk that Ebott was in good hands.

Frisk already knew that, and already knew that it was - and would be, likely long after she died, too.

That was comforting.

Overwhelmed, Nicky responded the only way she could, when forced to speak like this. “Since when do _you_ like sports, Mami?”

Frisk suddenly grinned. She heard the change in Nicky's voice, and knew what it meant. So she responded in kind.

“My dear girl,” Frisk replied happily, touching her hand with her own. “Politics is not only an adult _nursery_ , but a sport. A very difficult, frustrating, and annoying sport. The rules are set, but everyone does what they can to break or change them, without anyone even noticing."

Nicky smiled; _that_ was true, especially after today.

“You know that cheating doesn't work,” Frisk continued. “And it would also be stooping to their level. You're _better_ than that, Nicky. You _can_ do this – but _only_ if you do it _your way.”_

Nicky hesitated, her face sceptical. She wanted that, too. She wanted to continue and improve upon Frisk's hard work. But she wanted to do it while brainstorming new ideas, solutions to problems, grassroots consultations, monster-human relations and relationships, interracial children, and anything Frisk hadn't done, but had wanted to...

“Okay,” Nicky said, her eyes filling with tears.“ Thank you, Mami. I'm sorry.”

Frisk was right; she had to be herself.

“Don't be sorry, and embrace this new chapter,” Frisk replied, looking relieved. “Really, if anything, the job was _always_ meant for you.”

Nickname bit her lip again. She wanted to ask something, to see if it was plausible, but she held back. She wasn't even Ambassador, yet, in full; to think about someone else taking over, right now, after she _just_ did, was probably not the best way to start her time there.

But she put a pin in it, to ask about later. 

Now, she leaned over and hugged Frisk tight, whispering, “Thank you.”

“Anytime,” Frisk replied easily.

They both knew Frisk meant it.

* * *

When Frisk was retired, Nicky was the Ambassador, officially.

It was time for Nickname to do beyond was was merely needed, to prove it to everyone that she had _earned_ it.

And, in all truth, Frisk was proud of her. This was a feeling that would grow the more she saw just how Nickname fared and found her stride.

Alongside her, Basket and Olceal were _perfect_. Both were able to help Nicky in opposing ways, which meant that she would be able to listen to both, and find a solution in the middle.

For the first week, Frisk didn't write. Instead, she sat in front of the TV, or her phone, or the tablet in the bedroom, and watched the daily scrums.

It was ironic, when Asriel complained of the overexposure to politics; he'd started by being the one who overexposed Frisk in the first place. She'd had to put up with him doing it, and at a far younger age, after all.

And while that had made them both laugh when they realised that, it didn't change anything; Frisk kept watching.

Part of the reason was pride, yes.

But the other part was fear.

She still hadn't been told about the vision with Basket, and thus was not afraid on its behalf. Rather, it was gut instinct, and, well, _maternal_ instinct. She just wanted to have proof that, by giving Nicky this job, she hadn't also send Nicky to her death.

Things were better now, it was true. But even Nicky admitted that there was still a lot of work to be done, and that the potential for danger remained. It was also likely that Nicky wouldn't be the one to finalise peace, or if she did, it would happen _long_ after she'd died.

But both Nicky and Frisk wanted the peace to reign as soon as possible. Both were impatient, and both were determined. Frisk had done an incredible job, and everything that was easy and commonplace, now, was because of her. As such, it meant less work for Nicky, as long as she maintained the work that started.

Both knew Nicky could – and would.

Especially when she'd finally caught up with her future.

* * *

Basket and Nickname did get shot at, and Basket had used her lifeforce and was hospitalised for it. And once all three were finally forced to accept the reality of mortality, of the dangers, they became afraid, and clung tight.

Which of course led to "the night".

And yes, while it was true that it was a team effort, in the end, it was Nicky who became pregnant.

And when _that_ happened, Nicky's entire _world_ changed.

* * *

 Nicky would be pregnant for five months, and Frisk and Asriel had expected it; Nicky was simply more monster than human, and that was that.

She loved it. But she also needed to know that Basket wouldn't die like that, _especially_ now.

Basket promised, and meant it. When she did, Nicky finally felt something within her relax, and trusted her, too. She'd seen the way Basket's eyes always lit up whenever they saw Nicky – and glow, whenever she saw _all_ of Nicky.

Even when Nicky was not even _showing_ , yet, Basket would always lean down and nuzzle Nicky's stomach, grinning happily and greeting Storm, aware that Storm would likely only hear noise.

That wasn't the point. 

Basket used _any_ excuse she could to touch, or hug, or hold Nicky, something that was so very nice and good, but also rather... necessary, during Nicky's hormonal phase.

And yet even then, no matter how long it took, or how many times Nicky _needed_ to come (and need it, she did), Basket always beamed – perhaps more than usual - because of the reason _why_ Nicky needed to...

Nicky knew Basket was taking this seriously, now, and with everything that she ever was and would be. She wanted to be alive for their daughter, for her spouses, for _everyone_ , to _help_ them.

But not at her own life's expense. Not anymore. 

And Nicky believed her.

* * *

The first time Asriel felt Storm kick, something within him opened up, and never closed, again.

It was close to the part within his soul that opened when he'd finally accepted that he would be a grandfather - but _much_ bigger.

It made him wonder what a grandfather was. He still sometimes wondered what a _father_ was.

And he also wondered if he had it in him to be either, despite already being as near-perfect as a father could possibly be...

He didn't see it.

 _Yet_.

Nicky and her spouses were over for supper, and it was durin the space between cooking and eating. The entire house smelt _wonderful_ , and Nicky felt it especially hard, to the point of just closing her eyes and _drooling_ a little, her stomach growling as she rubbed it, trying to calm it.

Apparently this was _not_ _acceptable_ to Storm; she wanted _food_ , not smells. And Nicky _needed_ to know this.

It took a moment, before Nicky growled – and much louder than her stomach had – and rolled her eyes, sitting up a little.

It was summer, well into August, and Nicky was mere weeks away from labour.

For Nicky, it was like being _in_ an oven while also _being_ an oven, and Storm spent most of the time kicking – and seemed to like it _way_ too much. 

Nicky had been so worried about the heat hurting Storm, and that her amount of kicking meant that she was suffering heatstroke or something similar. Terrified, she went to the doctor on the first hot day of that year. She was reassured that babies _didn't_ feel heat like that, and as long as _Nicky_ didn't get heat- or sunstroke, Storm wouldn't even notice any fluctuations in outside temperature.

Nicky still worried, though. Storm kicked a _lot_ , and while she knew it was normal, it felt otherwise.

They were all watching TV,; the "harem" occupied one couch, while Frisk and Asriel shared the loveseat.

When Storm kicked, and Nicky reacted, Asriel looked over, interested all of a sudden.

“Are you okay?” he asked her.

She opened her eyes, just as both Basket and Olceal closed in on her and tried to hug her (which was fine; the AC was on max, and pointed directly at her). Olceal rested his cheek against her shoulder, hugging onto her arm, and Bass leaned over and nuzzled – then kissed all over – Nicky's swollen belly, making Nicky laugh; it tickled.

“Oh!” Nicky then said, smiling. She held out her hand, the other rubbing over where Storm was protesting. “Papi, come here?”

Frisk smiled, understanding at once why, and she gave him a nudge, one that jolted him to his feet and stumbling over. She remembered how wonderful he'd been while _she'd_ been pregnant, and knew Nicky deserved her father's gentle care, too (not with the same _methods_ , though. **_No._** )

But he stopped in front of Nicky, and gingerly took her hand, confused. She pulled him down in front of her, then pulled his hand toward her. She placed it flat upon her stomach, and his eyes flared with surprise.

“Whoa,” he squeaked out,  keeping his whole body as motionless as possible, afraid to scare it away, that little beat against the skin, like poking your finger against your tongue through your cheek, and your tongue pokes back.

He remembered Frisk had felt that way, too. His eyes went up to his daughter's, and saw how happy she looked, even while Storm beat out a drumming song beneath his hand. He'd never seen her _that happy,_ before, save when she got married.

And then, with another jolt, Asriel made _the_ decision, doing the math in his head. When he got the answer, he started to cry, lowering his head shyly but keeping his hand in place.

“She's due on the Barrier Anniversary, isn't she...?” he choked out, his heart racing.

The question caught everyone – except Nicky – by surprise. They looked at her, and she blushed.

“They can never _totally_ pin down the _exact_ date!” she exclaimed, making it clear that not only had she known, but she deliberately kept it to herself.

“Why didn't you tell us?” Frisk wondered.

Nicky went pink, looking away, but holding Asriel’s hand tighter. “I... I didn't want to get my hopes up,” she admitted.

Asriel closed his eyes, his head lowering down, and he pressed his forehead to the back of his – and Nicky’s, who held his – hand, unable to hold back his tears.

They thought he was crying because of the due date, but they were wrong. He was crying, because he'd been thinking ahead, and suddenly realised what he _had_ to do – and realised that he _wanted_ to do it, too.

“Papi?” Nicky murmured softly, looking up at Frisk with worry. “Are you okay?”

Asriel nodded, then sat back up, and pulled his hands away, to brush away his tears. He sat there on the floor for a moment, his hands in his lap and his eyes unfocused, and he said nothing.

“Uh...” Basket said, looking over at Olceal. “We'll go check out supper.”

Olceal bit his lip, but got up with her, and followed her to the kitchen, to give them – unneeded or wanted – privacy. However, after this, never happened, again, as Basket and Olceal were family, now, too.

“Love?” Frisk then said, getting up to stand beside him, worried.

She held out her hands to him, but, to her surprise as well as Nicky's, Asriel took hold of Frisk and swept her off of her feet, and into his lap. Frisk stared up at him, bewildered – a feeling that worsened when he suddenly kissed her, his hand curving around her cheek.

Nicky rolled her eyes and leaned back, her arms crossed. “I should've gone with them,” she muttered.

“No, no, Nicky, it's okay,” Asriel protested quickly, keeping Frisk within his embrace, but now holding her far more chastely (she frowned a little, wanting more, despite her guests).

“Sorry, I just... I just thought of something I need to do, and it's gonna be fun for all of us.”

Both Nicky and Frisk blinked at him, before Nicky looked over at her mother, and caught her gaze. Their eyes met, and both smiled rather archly.

 _“Apa, apakah ini sesuatu yang kotor?”_ Nicky wondered, her tone sly. _“Dia tahu aku melakukan itu, sekarang, kan?”_

And she gestured to her belly, before snorting, looking pleased with herself.

Frisk went red, but also grinned at her, both rather proud and appalled.

 _“Anda ingin memberinya serangan jantung?”_ she wondered, her voice dry. _“Atau alasan untuk pingsan?!”_

Both women snorted and started to laugh, while Asriel made a face and rolled his eyes.

But then, his eyes glinted, and he grinned; maybe it was best a surprise, after all.

* * *

Storm was born on September fourteenth.

It was why Nickname had been making a speech, and it was that speech that she had been waiting to present before she went on maternity leave.

“Admit it,” Frisk teased Nicky, on the day she came home with Storm, and Frisk insisted on helping. “You _planned_ it, so that you would miss the Barrier Anniversary.”

Nicky laughed, leaning back against the couch and bringing Storm with her, and in a way that did not disturb Storm's lunch.

It was a nice thought, but Nicky was a little bit disappointed.

“Why?” Frisk wondered, when Nicky admitted it.

She was sitting beside her, while Basket, Olceal, and Asriel got the spare room organised for its official start as Storm's room. Neither minded; Bass and Olceal had protested whenever Frisk or Nicky tried to help. With Asriel's help, those protests got even worse, so they gave up, and everyone won.

“I wanted her to share _your birthday_ ,” Nicky admitted, “not the Barrier Anniversary. I know they're the same day, but still.”

Frisk paused, taking the time needed to think, while reaching over and touching the top of Storm's soft head, scratching her ears gently. Storm’s tail swayed with clear enjoyment. Nicky felt it while holding her, and she almost started to cry; she already loved Storm _so much._..

“Think of it this way,” Frisk said at last, her eyes now on Storm's tail, too, continuing to scratch. “She has a day that is her own, a day she can make into a holiday, herself.”

Nicky burst into tears, surprising Frisk, but Nicky couldn't take it, anymore, and _had_ to cry. She was so happy, an amount she felt was almost unfair, and the way Frisk had worded that was absolutely perfect.

Frisk smiled and hugged her, and Nicky leaned into her arms, remaining there even after Storm was done, and was falling asleep in Nicky's arms.

Basket, between trips, had seen, and took a great deal of pictures of the three.

When everyone saw it, even Frisk and Nicky agreed that it was the perfect photo for summing up the year.

Or so they thought.

* * *

Somehow, Asriel kept it a secret. He never figured out how.

While he was Flowey, he could lie so easily. But as himself, the lying stopped – though at first, it was a bit of a problem. Especially when it came to Frisk, and his feelings for her.

Frisk certainly noticed... _something_ was weird, especially since Storm was born. She'd expected him to either be too nervous of Storm, or, like Asgore, become obsessed with his granddaughter.

The longer she watched, the more she concluded that it was the second, and not the first, that was true.

Asriel _loved_ Storm.

No, love _was_ the right word, but it went beyond love, too. Asriel was absolutely _in love_ with Storm, trying to be there for her and Nicky from the start of her mat leave. It got to the point that Alphys had noticed actual neglect around the school grounds, as Asriel kept finding excuses to wander off to Nicky's, instead.

 _“Fix_ _him,”_ Alphys sighed one night, her hold on her phone loose. She heard Frisk laugh, but made a face. “I'm serious!”

“ _Are_ you?” Frisk replied, her voice sounding breathless. “Because honestly, do you _really_ blame him for being so obsessed with our grandchild?”

Alphys paused, her eyebrow going up, and she listened carefully within that silence.

“You're there right now, _aren't you?!”_ Alphys cried, both irritated and jealous of such a thing.

“Uh,” Frisk replied helpfully. Frisk couldn't lie any better than her husband.

Alphys rolled her eyes and sighed. “Listen, _I_ can't do the landscaping,” she admitted. “I need him to be here, especially during the winter, with the ice.”

She blushed; that part was personal, as she'd already skidded and fallen down on several patches of ice, already.

Beside her, in bed with her, was Undyne, who was trying so hard to keep her own laughter silent, doubled over with it.

“I know,” Frisk agreed weakly, coughing a little. (Alphys heard a shriek of happiness, and felt even _more_ jealous.) “But _you_ try prying him away from here. Both Nicky and I have to _force_ him to leave whenever she needs sleep or, well, her house back, really.”

Neither realised why Asriel was focusing so much on Storm. They were of course _mostly_ right: he was so happy to have another baby around, and one related to him, that he could never move too far away.

Even Dandelion was growing cross with the way the grounds looked, and not just because she, too, had fallen down several times. She hated the disorder, the reminder that whatever she looked at that was neglected, with very _little_ work, it _could_ be perfect, again.

When Alphys caught Dandelion trying to fix one of the hedges by hand, she accepted that she had a problem, and needed Asriel back where he was.

But they never even considered the one reason they were missing, the main reason, even when the weather started to get cold, and trees disappeared into skeletons...

Alphys frowned, her other hand now stroking Undyne's cropped but slightly-messy hair; Undyne had curled up into her side and rested her head on Alphys's lap, still laughing, but as quiet as she could.

When she saw Alphys frown, Undyne sat up and stole her phone. “Undyne--!” she started, but Undyne spoke over her.

“Human, believe me,” she said happily, still brushing her tears away. “I get it. I have been over there almost every day, until I need to be home.” (Alphys sulked, then, at _peak_ jealousy, now.) “But this sounds... _clingy_ , almost. Is he... okay?”

Frisk was quiet for a moment, and Undyne heard Asriel murmur something, followed by hysterical giggles from Storm.

“Oh... Undyne, I think you're right…” It sounded like Frisk was moving to another room, proven so when the games around her became quieter.

Alphys and Undyne had switched places, and Alphys was still sulking, her face buried into Undyne's thigh, her tail limp and her glasses in her hand. Undyne turned the volume up for her to hear, and Alphys relaxed a little.

“Explain,” Undyne asked, just as she heard Frisk sit down – the kitchen, she decided, hearing a chair scrape across the floor.

“Well, you're right. He _is_ acting rather obsessive, lately. And whenever I ask, he gets all weird and looks embarrassed, but never tells me,” Frisk explained, lowering her voice. “We've started to be angry at each other over it, because I don't understand, and Asriel doesn't _want_ me to, as if hiding a secret... I know clingy, and Asriel is, yeah. But this is _more_ than that, I think...”

That worried both Undyne and Alphys; Alphys raised her head, and Undyne met her gaze, her worry displayed easily in her expression.

“ _Is_ he sick?” Undyne wondered, nervous about that. “Is he sick, and he doesn't wanna say?”

Frisk was silent, again, clearly wondering about this. “Sick,” she repeated, sounding scared. “I'm not... I haven't seen anything like that. He doesn't seem that way. If anything, he lights up whenever he sees Storm.”

Alphys sat up and took her phone back. “Frisk, I think I’ll give him some time off,” she offered. “At least until Asriel knows that he doesn't have to worry.”

“You think it's worry, and not illness?” Frisk's voice was confused, now.

“I think we'll prepare for both,” Alphys said slowly, trying to keep up with her brain. “I'll give him til the second week of January; I’ll see if I can hire someone to take over.”

“Okay,” Frisk agreed. “And I’ll make sure to keep a close watch on him, now that I'm retired, and I’ll write down any worrisome behaviour.”

“Sounds good,” Alphys agreed, though she looked worried, still. “I'll come by whenever I can, and of course, if it's okay with Nicky, Undyne can still come by, too.”

Undyne nodded, smiling.

“That way, if you miss anything, she'll catch it, and vice versa.”

All three agreed, and the plan was set.

Now, all they needed to do was wait.

* * *

For the first time in many, many years, Asriel was excited, and distracted enough to be happy.

With Storm's birth, Asriel's mood kept getting better and better. He no longer hid in the closet. He no longer compared himself to Asgore. He even started using Asgore's tools, realising how much better they were, and how it actually felt nice to see them, again...

He also started to eat pie, again, because he wanted to introduce it to Storm, to see if she loved snails, too...

He didn't realise that he was behaving strangely. He just assumed they would understand, that the reason was obvious.

_Wasn't it?_

_How can I not, how can anyone not be this way?_

_How come I'm the only one?_

* * *

When Alphys exasperatingly told him, effective that day (the first of December), that he was on leave, he was surprised, but he didn't linger on it. He agreed with it, and went right to Nicky's.

To his surprise, he found Undyne there. It was a frigid day, and everyone knew that Undyne loathed cold weather. To see her here, and realise that she'd either walked or bussed here, was impressive; he wasn't mad at all.

He greeted her with a surprised laugh, shaking the snow off of his head and hanging up his coat. By the time his boots were off, Nicky was in front of him and hugging him tight, laughing, too.

“Papi, I feel so _popular_ ,” Nicky teased, taking his hand and leading him in.

Undyne was on the floor with Storm, on her knees and hunched forward, resting on her forearms. Between her hands was Storm, who was shrieking, cheering Undyne on, clearly in the middle of being tickled.

Undyne grinned the second Asriel knelt down beside her. She also, however, kept her eye fixed on him, remembering what Alphys said and already taking mental notes.

When she sat up, Asriel leaned down and scooped Storm up into his arms, surprising the baby into shrieking, again, going from worried surprise to happy recognition. She grinned up at Asriel and grabbed onto one of his ears, and he laughed, again, closing his eyes - before he started to cry, too.

Undyne had noticed, and her smile vanished, her hands going to her knees. Her eye went to Nicky, who had also seen it (Asriel really was that transparent), and they both watched him silently.

For a while, he didn't realise it, too distracted. He watched her concentrate on his face, her eyes darting over it, even as she smiled and yanked on his ear. He loved that about babies, how smart they were, how they were always learning, teaching themselves, as well as being taught.

He remembered that about Nicky, and how she was like that with Asgore, too. It had always taken her a few seconds to remember who Asgore was, but once she did, Nicky lit up and became a screaming ball of happiness.

Storm looked like Nicky, but she also looked like Basket, too. She had Basket's voice, one Asriel recognised, and knew would be as deep and loud as hers. Her grin was Basket's, too.

He then remembered how Asgore looked, whenever he held Basket, too.

Asgore had laughed, when Basket started to recognise him. She also _screamed_ , the sound deafening to anyone with decent hearing, and she wiggled so much that Asgore once admitted he was afraid she would slip right out of his hands.

With Dandelion, Asgore had chuckled, as Dandelion remained calm and relaxed in his arms, looking sombre and serious. She touched his face a lot, and when it brought him joy, Dandelion was startled by the volume of his laughter - before joining him, feeling the same delight for him.

It was amazing, that he could see Nicky and Basket within Storm, so of _course_ he cried, even as he smiled.

Storm frowned when she saw that, and when Asriel sniffled, she looked worried – and she started to cry, her arms swinging and her legs kicking hard. Asriel was shocked, suddenly worried she would slip through _his_ fingers.

When he held tighter, she grew even angrier, and Storm looked at Nicky, clearly wanting her over anyone. But Asriel kept murmuring to her, rocking her and trying to calm her down, ceasing his tears; he thought he'd scared her with them.

When Storm realised she wasn't getting what - or rather, who - she wanted, her eyes filled with tears, and her crying shifted pitch, to a desperate, cutthroat wail.

Nicky flinched, then sighed and knelt beside him, holding her arms out. She already felt uncomfortable, and the last thing she needed was yet another ruined shirt...

Asriel actually hesitated, even as Storm saw Nicky and tried to reach for her, her cries increasing. He bit his lip, looking down at Storm, but Storm was looking only at Nicky, reaching for her. Asriel, however, pulled each arm back, and tried to keep rocking her.

“Papi?” she said, bemused.

“Maybe I can calm her down...?” he offered weakly, unable to admit that he didn't want to let go, even if she looked at him like _that_...

 _“Dude,”_ Undyne broke in, her eyebrows up. She reached up and scratched the back of her head, ruffling her soft, cropped hair a bit and looking _very_ uncomfortable.

Clearly, Asriel was missing something.

“She's _hungry_ , Papi,” Nicky quickly said, before Undyne could continue.

Asriel went scarlet, and held Storm out at once, shame and guilt filling him.

Nicky shot a look to Undyne, then took Storm into her arms.

Asriel watched, sitting down on the floor and leaning his back against the couch. He kept quiet, though, and didn't try to intervene, again, the guilt making him feel sick, now.

The second Nickname was holding Storm in her arms, her entire being changed. She held her baby close, without any fumbling, and walked backward into the chair she then sat on, still speaking to Storm very softly. Storm went quiet the moment she did, wanting to hear Nicky, and again, despite the tears still streaking her cheeks, she concentrated _hard_ , making sure not to miss a word.

Asriel was in tears again by then time Storm was completely calm; she was now trying to echo Nicky's words, though one hand was attached to the front of Nicky's shirt (babies are _really_ smart).

When Nicky, with near-perfect ease, unbuttoned the front of her shirt, however, Asriel looked away.

Undyne was confused, and so was Nicky. They both knew that Asriel had never reacted to nursing, before, even with Alphys.

But _now_ , he was?

Nicky was certain she understood. She focused on Storm for a moment, freeing her breast and nudging Storm toward her nipple gently. To Nicky's delight, Storm made a soft, happy noise, her eyes going to her dam's, before she latched on, and closed them, her hands now resting on Nicky's breast, skin to skin.

“Okay, Papi,” Nicky then called. "Look up, now."

Asriel looked over, then relaxed, smiling - and proving Nicky right; he felt weird about seeing his adult daughter naked, whatever the context. He glanced at Storm, smiling wider, but then looked up at Nicky, surprising her.

“I remember when you were that age,” he admitted, and Undyne looked over at him, very interested. “You did the same – you _had_ to have your hands on bare skin, or you wouldn't eat.”

Nicky stared at him, swallowing hard. She hadn't know that, but now that she did, it made her very emotional, indeed. She shook her head, but had to bite her lip, to keep from crying.

“Yeah,” he added, his eyes going to Storm, and without blushing, now. “I remember it said that in the book, that human babies needed to be held a lot, and preferably with skin touching. Mom said, too, that I liked it, but with fur, not skin. It makes sense, for Storm to like both.”

Nicky lowered her face and hid behind her hair for a moment, holding Storm closer. She hadn't know that, either, and he was right; she _did_ have memories of that feeling, and how much it connected her to Frisk.

And then later, with Asriel, when Frisk went back to work. Bare and furred, she loved them both, because she, herself was a mix of both.

“Asriel,” Undyne suddenly blurted out, her eye huge. “What the _fuck_ has gotten into you, lately?!”

Asriel jumped, turning to her with shock, and Nicky silently thanked her, just as a tear slipped free off her nose.

“I... I don't know, okay?” he admitted, covering his face with his hands. “I _know_ I’m acting strangely, and I don't get it, either. I just feel... almost _scared_ , of leaving her alone, and I want to make sure you're _both_ safe.”

“Asriel, come on, you trust Bass and Olceal!” Undyne protested, holding her hand out and waving it. “ _Especially_ after what Bass did! Why would you be scared?”

Asriel hesitated, shaking his head. He didn't know. He wasn't any closer to figuring that out than she was.

Nicky, however, knew. And it was why she cried. Especially when he'd mentioned herself and Frisk. She was trying to get a hold of herself, to explain, but she sniffled, instead, and was now the centre of attention.

Nicky kept trying to hide, her hair curtaining around Storm's face, too (though Storm didn't seem to care; her eyes were closed and she was in heaven, knowing Nicky's arms to be home). She held up her hand, with one finger up, before she used it to grab the hem of her skirt, lifting it to her face and drying her tears.

Undyne sighed, gesturing to Asriel, and he moved over and sat down beside Nicky. She reached out, and he took her hand. She held it tight, her rings digging into his hand, but he didn't let go.

When she could, she whispered, “Papi, it's okay.”

Asriel didn't say anything, confused. He peered closer, and she nodded, squeezing his hand. He looked at Undyne, and Undyne was surprised to find herself on Asriel's team, now.

“Nicky, are _you_ alright? Do you want me to call Bass?” Undyne asked, moving over to her and placing a hand on her knee briefly, so Nicky knew she was there.

“No,” Nicky admitted truthfully. “Mom, I get it,” she said to Undyne. “I know why.”

“Know what?” Asriel asked, starting to get worried.

Finally, Nicky raised her head, and she smiled at him, despite the fact that her face was tear-streaked and red.

“What's going on with you,” she said.

Asriel opened his mouth, then shut it. In all fairness, he wanted to know, too.

“We're going to be okay, Papi,” Nicky told him, her voice firm, but her smile remaining. “I know why you're scared. It's your... mortality... isn't it, Papi?”

Asriel froze, sitting up rigidly, lowering his head and looking down. He held his other hand over his eyes, but Nicky didn't let go of the one she held.

Undyne jolted, her eye widening with shock, before she went pale, and looked away, too, before closing her eye.

That _was_ it.

“Not _badly_!” Asriel insisted, his voice cracking several times. “I'm... Nicky _, I don't want to be immortal._ I _never_ did. When we had you, I was so happy, because it meant that Frisk and I would age _together_. And then I fell in love with you, too, and you made the world even better, and...”

He coughed for a moment; his words were nowhere as even as they are above, but he still said it nonetheless.

Nicky waited patiently, nodding and hoping he'd go on. He looked up at her for a moment, then did.

“I see your mother in you, Nicky,” he whispered, surprising her. _Everyone_ knew that she took after _him_ in almost all of her features, save perhaps her hair: her fur, her ears, her teeth and tail... even her horns.

But Asriel was telling the truth, and Nicky froze, silent and spellbound.

“I see you, and I remember how it was for Frisk. You fared so much better than she, and yet I can only see her while you are... _motherly_. I also remember how that feels. And yes, fathers can be motherly, too,” he added. "Fatherly?"

At that, something in Nicky's eyes lit up, and she nodded.

“I realise, I now sit where Dad did, realising I'll die one day, too. And I _know_ I’ve been a pest, Nicky,” he admitted, looking over at Undyne, too. “I know I’ve been here a lot. But I’m still scared, Nicky.”

“Why?” Undyne asked, her eyes the only part of her face that was visible, above her arms and knees.

“Because I _am_ gonna die, someday,” he said. His tone was calm, and both Undyne and Nicky knew that he was not afraid of his own death. “And I can't be here to protect Storm.”

He closed his eyes. “I'm terrified of missing so much. I want to make the best of the time I have with her, Nicky. I want her to remember me, and Frisk, and all of us, so that we won't be forgotten, either.”

That was when he choked, and broke down. Nicky had to burp Storm, then rock her to sleep, so when she stood up and walked away, Undyne took her place and hugged Asriel tight.

And he hugged back, not even hesitating, knowing he could trust Undyne, even if they always bickered and quipped...

They were still _family_.

Undyne understood, even more than Nicky did, though, and proved it when she said, “History repeats, and our children become us, only even better. We'll _never_ die, Goat Boy. Even when we _do.”_

Asriel was so grateful to Undyne, and actually realised how much he loved her, at that moment. He nodded, unable to speak, but he didn't need to.

When Nicky came back, they hugged onto her, too.

They only let go when, not even fifteent minutes later, Storm startled awake from a sudden thunderclap, having heard such a sound before, but was absolute terrified shitless by it, every time.

It was amusing, in an ironic kind of way, despite all three feeling a little bad for her, especially when the storm began in full.

Storm, herself, looked desperately around for Basket, at first, pausing to scream with every thunderclap. During her first thunderstorm, it was Basket, and Basket alone, who managed to calm Storm down, completely.

Being with Nicky _always_ helped, but without Basket, she remained scared and unsoothed, even when Nicky or Olceal used the same methods Bass did: playing music and singing along with it, while Storm listened to both.

Nicky tried that, now, and when Storm finally accepted that Basket was not there, nor would not be any time soon, it deeply hurt Storm. She now kept trying to hide within Nicky's arms, and screamed through it all, every time thunder sounded, and didn't let anyone but Nicky touch her, still sometimes looking hopefully for Basket – and crying louder when disappointed, again.

Even when Nicky needed to use the washroom, when she tried to give Storm to either Undyne or Asriel, she screamed and cried, actually starting to _fight_ them. This terrified Nicky, aware of how fragile her baby's body was, right now, and took back hold of her quickly. Storm clung tight and sobbed, clearly still in hell.

“What if _I_ try to sing?” Undyne wondered, desperate for anything to work, now.

Nicky hesitated; they'd never tried that, before, and Undyne's voice _did_ sound like Basket's...

Nicky nodded quickly, and Undyne moved close enough for Storm to be placed in her arms.

“Song?”

_“Sky Full Of Song.”_

Undyne opened her mouth, then closed it and made a face at Nicky. Asriel blinked; she clearly recognised the song, and seemed to find irony in it. But when Nicky looked back with absolutely no mirth, Undyne became serious and nodded.

When Undyne looked down at Storm, she was finally recognised, Storm's screams halting abruptly once their eyes met. Undyne smiled, though; she knew she had that effect on kids, and smirked a little, kissing Storm's forehead.

Nicky held her breath, shifting a little with agitation, but she waited. She had to.

Undyne started to sing, then, just at a small lull. She knew the song, and knew it perfectly, so her voice did cut through Storm's fear. Her eyes stayed on Undyne's, catching her breath; she looked confused, but Undyne had her attention.

And just when it looked like it worked – Storm was trying to talk to Undyne, between softening cries of protest, even through lightning – the thunder _crashed_ into them, the loudest, yet.

Storm's face changed immediately, and her screaming resumed.

Undyne kept trying, singing over the thunder and her cries, but it was strange: any time Storm remembered it was Undyne, and not Basket, singing to her, despite Undyne's near-perfect voice, she remained unhappy, and wanted her mum even more, now.

When Storm started trying to escape and hit, again, Undyne knew she was beat. Quickly, she handed her back, and Nicky took her, holding her tight and closing her eyes.

When like this, Nicky broke a little, her heart breaking whenever she saw Storm's face, and right now, it showed.

Especially since Storm was now so frightened that she didn't even _recognise_ Nicky, at first, trying to hit her, too.

It made _Nicky_ cry, now, feeling like the worst mother in the world. She held Storm tight, rocking her slowly and speaking to her in soft Indonesian, undoing her own shirt. She parted the front of it and pressed Storm's cheek against the skin below her throat, still rocking her, while her free hand rubbed Storm's back, trying to almost massage the fear away.

It didn't work, except stopping Storm from hitting Nicky, so Nicky and Storm cried, together.

Asriel knew Nicky was breaking, so he held her to him, while she held Storm to her. 

Undyne, the moment she realised her help had not only failed, but made things worse, had kissed Nicky, and Storm (she got slapped by Storm for it), before heading home, her ears – and eye – now stinging with pain – _and_ tears.

Later, when Dandelion got home from school and found her mother weeping, and was told why, Dandy went over and hugged her.

Undyne gratefully cried upon her shoulder; they were friends, not just mother and daughter, by then. She was added to the very short list of people Undyne now trusted with her tears, and Dandy knew how much it meant, and was happy she could.

* * *

It was a horrible afternoon.

Nicky didn't try to give her to anyone, anymore, and was forced to finally give up; she went to the bedroom, wrapped Storm into a sling, and hung both around herself. 

It helped. But it was still horrible.

But the storm eventually quieted, leaving the rain behind, and when Storm realised she heard only that, her screams softened, slowed, then became soft, intermittent cries.

Soon, Storm became _very_ quiet, and no longer startled by any sudden noise Nicky made. She kept her face against Nicky's bare chest, switching cheeks, sometimes (her cheeks were hot with tears, and Nicky's skin was cool and soft with peachfuzzy fur), her hands either holding an ear, some clothing, or her hair.

Storm never let go; Nicky wasn't even able to change her until the storm had ended, and _that_ was _not_ a pleasant thing to sit through.

Asriel stayed til the end, and even though his ears and eyes hurt, too, he stayed put. It was interesting, because Storm watched him, sometimes, in-between thunderclaps, her eyes focused. He could tell that she was learning more about him, and listened to him when she heard him talk.

Asriel in turn made sure to keep close, to keep talking to her, and Nicky, until it finally ended. He never tried to sing or hold her, but he made sure she could hold onto something of his, too; whenever the thunder hit, offering his hand, fingers, and an ear at one point. She took him up on holding his fingers, and he always smiled and petted her tiny hand.

Sometimes, when her eyes met Asriel's, her eyes narrowed, searching his; when able to, she frowned, then looked back up at Nicky, her intense search on her mami's, instead. Then she would start again, making sounds as her eyes narrowed and her eyebrows drew closer together.

When the storm’s performance had ended at last, Nicky was exhausted, still crying a little, holding Storm against her chest, while Asriel held Nicky in his arms. She closed her eyes, sniffling into his shoulder, and he kissed her head.

“Golly,” Nicky whispered. “That made me want to _die_. I've _never_ had to do this without Bassy, before. I really, really, _really_ thought Mom's voice would work.”

Asriel nodded, resting his cheek against the top of her head, away from her horns. “I remember that, too,” he murmured, and both Nicky and Storm listened. “I've seen you react like that, before, to different things.”

Nicky nodded; some of those moments she remembered, too, and remembered the comfort she'd felt, within her papi's arms – especially, she realised, while in those arms, now.

Storm was still watching her grandfather, but her face had relaxed, now that she was calm enough to recognise him as “Ehmpa”.

 _Indeed_.

But still, her eyes flicked back and forth, her frown sometimes returning, deeply thoughtful.

“How did you survive it?” she asked him weakly.

Asriel laughed. “I cried - a _lot_ ,” he replied cheerfully. “I paced, and held you – the same way, skin-to-skin, and tried swinging you around, and stuff like that...”

Nicky blinked, surprised that she'd been difficult as a baby. For some reason, she always thought she'd been good.

Asriel could tell, and he tapped her nose lightly, shaking his head. “No,” he said loudly. "You were still a good baby."

She blushed. “But, if you had to with me--,”

“No.”

“But, if you compared them--,”

_“NO.”_

Nickname glowered at him. “Then how _was_ I like, if not a screaming mess like my own baby?!”

Asriel laughed, and Nicky made a face at him, this time, even when Storm did not.

But Storm still examined him, her eyes bright and calm, now. With each passing minute, she started feeling better, too, and her fast-paced brain was starting to make the connections, to explain why...

“I _want_ an answer, Papi,” Nicky reminded him, appreciating a laugh from him but wanting to know the context at once.

 _She's always been like_ that _, too_ , he thought, calming down and touching Nicky's pale cheek. _Always needs to know everything, especially if she doesn't understand... needing every piece until she got that puzzle right..._

His expression softened, and he felt his eyes well up wit tears, his smile growing. Nicky bit her lip, looking concerned, but also being one of three people who knew he emoted best with tears, regardless of said emotion.

“You also responded to song,” he admitted. “So did I. It's _definitely_ a family thing.” He laughed, rubbing her cheek for a moment, before lowering it to Storm's.

“ _You_ sang to me...?” Nicky wondered, perplexed by the idea.

Asriel didn't blame her. While he loved music and loved to sing, his voice was _atrocious_. Toriel always told Asgore it was _his_ fault, and Asgore always looked bashful but agreed…

“No,” he replied. “Frisk did. From the very first day she knew you were alive within her, she sang to you.” He smiled wider. “I think that's also when she started talking to you in the language of secrets.”

Nicky laughed softly – _At last!_ he thought happily – and blushed. “I use it with Storm, too,” she admitted.

She looked at him closer, smiling. “I don't even remember learning it.”

“She brainwashed you, in vitro,” he replied, his eyes meeting Storm's for perhaps the sixty-third time and smiling – making her look more and more focused, each time.

Nicky grinned. “She is, too,” she replied, readjusting her hold on Storm. “How did I never get confused?”

“You _did!”_ he replied. “When you'd started talking, it was a mix of both, and only Frisk could understand you. She was the one who _fixed_ you.” He nodded sagely. “Watch out for that!”

Nicky nodded, appreciating the warning, but still confused on one thing. “So _Mami_ sang to me during storms?”

Asriel shook his head. “No, you loved storms,” he said, and this made her happy, for obvious reasons. “We noted how much better you _slept_ _during them_ , and we... uh...” He blushed. “Thought you were maybe deaf.”

Nicky tilted her head. “Why does that embarrass you?”

“Shame,” he corrected. “Like we'd broken you, somehow, or hurt you, too, when Frisk got hurt. But, no; you were just an alien child.”

Nicky grinned, before then momentarily distracted by Storm, who was tugging on the front of her shirt and looking deeply concerned. When she had Nicky's attention, she looked at Asriel for a moment, then back to her, a slew of syllables spilling from her mouth, most of which were nonsense.

 _Most_.

Both Asriel and Nicky had an ear that twitched, because some of the syllables Storm had babbled out had some purposeful order to them.

And thus, they heard her first word.

Storm blinked after she spoke, clearly hearing it, too, and she lingered on a few sounds for a moment, before going quiet, her eyes searching Asriel's, again,

Asriel waited, patient and hopeful, holding onto one of Nicky's hands, just as tightly as she held his.

“Mm'pa,” Storm then declared, her arms both swinging up as she did, and she grinned wildly, the word followed by delighted giggles.

She damn well knew she got it right.

Asriel's eyes flared and filled, but he was speechless, even when Storm grabbed both of his ears and tugged, beaming at him happily.

“Storm,” Nicky said, her voice carefully slow and calm. “What was it that you just said?”

Storm had looked at her and listened closely, interjecting softly a few times, before she grinned, again.

She pulled Asriel's ears, alongside _“Mmm...paa!!”_

Then, she burst into giggles, her arms out and reaching for Asriel.

The whole time, she'd been trying to understand his eyes. She recognised them, for the first time understanding that she did, and kept looking up at Nicky to confirm it.

When she had, she also remembered the many sessions of language lessons, and applied one lesson to the one she'd taught herself.

Because their eyes were the _same_ , Storm had discovered, and she connected the dots.

Asriel took her, and she clung to him, her tail a blur and her shriek overjoyed. He started crying, especially when he saw Nicky's face: she was stunned. He didn't need her to say it, but she did.

“That was her _first word,_ Papi...”

And he nodded and laughed, kissing his granddaughter's face all over, each feature, making her screech and laugh with joy. She'd repeat the word, amidst other sounds, making it clear that it was not a fluke.

Within him, Asriel felt that little word smash into his heart, and obliterate the thin layer of doubt still holding him back.

As the three laughed, and cried, Asriel's mind was somewhere else, back at New Solace Home, on one place, and what was _in_ that place, and...

That was it.

He was no longer fearful, or depressed, or certain that he was too phony to.

He knew he could - and _should_.

Storm had just proven to him that she knew who and what he was to herself, enough to say it aloud, and without a doubt. _She_ knew who he was, despite _his_ own doubts on the matter.

It was that word that destroyed those doubts.

And he sobbed, so happy that he almost fainted – and more than once.

But he didn't say a word.

Now, he was _certain_ it was best left a secret.

* * *

When Asriel got home, Frisk was napping on the living room couch, her desk still set up for working. Her laptop showed its screensaver – family photos – and it was clear it had also been sleeping, and for at least as long as Frisk.

When he woke her, it was easy, for the first time in a while. She stirred awake when touched and called for, and when their eyes met, she smiled and sat up, wanting a hug.

He grinned, kissed her nose, and obeyed, always happy to obey the queen of their family's peace - and his heart and soul.

Before she could ask, Asriel buried his face into her shoulder, and told her _everything_.

By the end, with him in her arms, her whole face was alight, just like his. He'd told her about the storm, _their_ Storm, and the excitement of her first word.

But he'd also added his final decision, and that made her cry – with _joy_ – and she moved to curl up into his lap, instead, nodding, even as she pulled his face to hers for a kiss.

* * *

As the weather dipped into winter, Christmas crept close and closer.

This year, Asriel was ready for it.

This year, he no longer hesitated.

And after, he never hesitated, again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not done; keep going.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uuuuuuugh..... *headdesk*

The week before Christmas, Frisk prepared herself for another breakdown from Asriel, especially now that Storm was born, and he was bitter that their parents hadn't lives to know about her, much less see or touch her.

She looked closer, especially the day before _the_ week - the day that marked exactly a week until Christmas day usually started - began: with him staring at the closet, but never reaching up.

She scrutinised his actions, her eyes sharp, and realised there was a change in him. He didn't look as sad as usual, and when their eyes met, his glinted – before he kissed her, and made her not want to stop him.

She'd been expecting that she would be spending the night holding him against herself, talking to him and petting him gently, which was, by now, routine...

Instead of all of that, when Asriel reached for her, she found that his palms were warm, and his eyes glimmered with hunger and need. And while there was some grief within his eyes, he still looked at her with happiness as his primary emotion.

Frisk was stunned speechless; when he noticed that, he suddenly felt just as stunned. He realised what this meant, and could tell that it gave Frisk a bit of hope. She didn't know why he was suddenly so urgent for her, if  not in a way that she knew was a balm to his emotional wounds, but she enjoyed this.

 _This_ was eagerness;  _this_ was optimistic giddiness.

And when he pressed his body against hers, she closed her eyes and shivered – but pulled him closer – and would soon understand, and know why, without any doubts left between them.

For now, they focused on their bodies, and how they both felt – and made each other feel the same feelings at once...

Again, that night, they used their souls, something that made Frisk laugh happily. While she came close to asking a few times, Asriel still - somehow, he never, in his life, found out _how_ – kept his reason for this sudden rush of affectionate need to himself, even when such a feat should have been impossible.

She unsurprisingly noticed that he hid something from her, but he laughed, and said, “Presents!”

Frisk laughed, too – then sighed, deciding to focus only on this – on _him_.

And then, give him _more_ presents...

When they were both spent, Frisk dozed off right away, her whole body relaxing atop Asriel, her face buried into the crook off his neck. He held her tight, his face buried into her sweaty hair, loving the unique way she always smelt after they made love...

Both were panting, but Frisk still fell asleep, first. And while he'd managed to keep his insomnia issues to a minimum over the decades, it was still odd whenever she beat him to it. He hadn't noticed for several minutes, feeling close to passing out, himself.

 _Maybe we need to set a limit,_ he thought, dizzy.

But when he thought of that, he _hated_ it, and would rather be exhausted, with his wife asleep against his chest, than have a proper night's sleep, while never feel this kind of healing ecstasy.

He looked at her, leaning back and touching her face. She sighed, nuzzling closer, and then tried to crawl as much as she could into his arms, so that their skin would cool and then feel like they shared one...

She fell asleep before she tried mentioning it, forgetting her age and her illnesses. Before Asriel could say a word, she was out for the night, her face red and her hair sweaty and sticking to her cheeks and neck.

And once more, he thought, _Maybe it's still best kept a secret._

_She's smiling like that because she can tell I’m doing better._

_We've always been connected like that..._

Asriel sighed, then pulled the blankets over them both, keeping Frisk on top of himself. She stirred, mumbling nonsense, but when she discovered she was warm and safe with him, she fell back asleep.

Asriel held her close, his eyes staring up at the ceiling. He barely saw it, but knew it well, by now, and could make out specific things from memory, alone.

He cried a little, then, his excitement and anticipation so immense that it could only express it through extremes, like tears, now.

Frisk didn’t wake, but she didn’t move away. Not even when he'd reached up and pulled her hair away from her neck and face, to help her cool off. She snuggled closer, or murmured and sighed, but stayed asleep.

When he fell asleep, she remained there, her cheek resting upon his chest, her eyes closed and her whole body warm and soothed.

This time, he knew that she hadn't fainted, and knew it to be what he saw it as: more good luck.

 _I'm not a betting man..._ he sighed, thinking of Asgore, who was quite the gambler, indeed (second only to Toriel).

_I'm not, but if I was, I would bet everything in the world, that once I wake her up, she'll wake up easily, too._

The universe owed their family – and Asriel, especially – quite a bit of good luck. He knew that it would have been too early, or too late, any other time.

But he still knew it.

* * *

Asriel woke up the next morning, and confirmed it. He knew this was going to be a good Christmas. And he knew that his plan was a good one, too.

He'd never been so definite of _anything_ , before, save when it came to his love for Frisk.

So when she woke up that first morning of the official holiday week, he was right there beside her, his chin in his hand and his expression dopey and loving.

When _she_ smiled, unable to help it, he brightened even more, and she was surprised. She knew the date. She also had thought that last night's intensity was for distraction, a rare moment of pleasure and joy before depression struck.

He touched her cheek with his other hand, and she smiled wider, her eyes closing for a moment. When his expression didn't change, she knew it was silly, but she thought it was because of her. She didn't ask it, far too shy, even after all of these years.

But she was right: it _was_ because of her. Because of her, and Nicky, and especially Storm.

“Something's off,” she murmured, keeping herself lying down, her eyes dark and searching his face. “You... feel different.”

Asriel was surprised. In the many decades they'd shared, Frisk had only mentioned things like intuition or gut feelings, and only in passing. He was again reminded that even though humans weren't supposed to be magic, some were, anyway, and Frisk was the most popular example.

It was no small wonder that Nicky's magic was also premonition, only more frequent, and a mixed bag between literal visions or unconscious allegory.

 _She likely inherited a dormant gene in Frisk's bloodline, once she grew old enough,_ Asriel was thinking, his eyes becoming unfocused as he thought deeper.

_Because I know that Mom and Dad have neither._

_It has to be Frisk._

“Hey,” she rasped out, reaching up and taking hold of his hand between her own.

He blinked, his eyes on hers, again, and she studied him closely, obviously worried about him. She'd expected to have to drag him out of bed this morning, especially after the night before.

“What's going on?” she asked, her eyes clouded, and something within her went rigid, something that made her feel sick, too. “You're... worrying me.”

Asriel looked closer, and saw that she actually meant _fear_ , not worry, and felt bad. He shifted, lowering back down onto the bed, and when he opened his arms, she curled up into them, and he curled around her.

Frisk felt much better, now, though she was nervous, still. She kept her face buried into his soft shoulder, her eyes closed, and her hands reached up and touched his back, her fingers digging in a little. She _was_ scared, and wanted to enjoy this, but was still worried that it was fake, or she was missing something, and it was bad.

Except... It felt _weird_ , but not bad, to Frisk. She fretted, because of the date, but the longer she stayed within his arms, the easier it was for her to wonder why she was worried at all.

They were quiet for a moment.

Frisk was calming down, and Asriel was trying to word his feelings, so that he wouldn't spoil anything, but also ease Frisk's worry.

Then he realised he just needed to be honest, and leave out that one thing.

“It's Storm,” he confessed. “She's... changed me a little, Frisk. I feel old, but I feel young. I want to protect her, and I want to make sure she is spoilt. She's so sweet, so small, and she deserves to be happy.”

Frisk blinked, something that Nicky had said to her earlier finally making sense.

* * *

"Papi _really_ hates it when babies cry,” she'd murmured, her eyes sad. “Especially to tears.”

“The storm?" Frisk had sighed, touching Nicky's cheek, and Nicky smiled sadly; Frisk had yet to see it, but she'd heard about it.

Nicky was quiet for a moment, before she'd murmured, “She recognised his eyes, Mami. As mine. She could see it. I watched her put it together.”

That had ended the topic involving Asriel, but Frisk recalled it now, with that understanding.

* * *

"It's my fault,” Frisk murmured, surprising Asriel. “You, feeling pain when Storm cries. Of course it would hurt, to hear a baby cry, especially in terror, and be helpless to soothe them...”

Asriel's expression fell. “It's _awful!”_ he agreed, glad the topic had changed, but also glad to discuss this. “Frisk, I don't remember Nicky screaming like that! At least, not for _that_  long! Is it normal?!"

Frisk was quiet, her eyes wide, when she realised that he wasn't exaggerating. _She_ remembered Nicky screaming, a _lot_ , and all throughout her babyhood.

But she also remembered the look on Asriel's face when he actually did hear Nicky scream like that for the first time. The sound had paralysed him, refusing to let go of her, holding her close against his chest and rocking her, despite knowing the sound was killing his soul. Frisk had just barely made it in time, just before he'd broken down, and almost dropped poor Nicky to the floor - which made her scream _louder_ , already upset, but terrified from that, now, too...

Frisk didn't mention this, nor did she mention the fact that it was because of this that had brought on Asriel's ignorance of it in the future: Frisk had hidden it from him, and any other memory he had of it was clearly suppressed.

She never knew how, but whenever she knew that Nicky was in pain, or lonely, or angry and hurt by it, she'd found a way to make sure Asriel never heard her screams, let alone when she sobbed from grief or pain. Even when her maternity leave was over, and she went back to work, she still managed it - and soon, Nicky caught on.

By that time, she knew why: Nicky only trusted Frisk with her pain, and wouldn't ask Asriel to help her, even when he could have. She only showed _sadness_ to Asriel when he was already upset; she quickly learnt how painful it was for _her_ to see _Asriel_ hurt, and no longer wished to ever do so, even when furious with him. Nicky loved him that much, and always would.

But what he said next confused Frisk.

“Nicky let me help, though. She was so sweet, Frisk. Nicky was hurt – it hurt her to hear it – and it's an awful feeling, but when Storm calmed, she was _so cute,_ and... I realised Nicky and I were _both_ feeling the same thing, just a step apart,” he explained, his voice even and calm, slightly happy by the end.

Frisk nodded, unable to speak but wanting him to know she did understand – or was starting to, at least. “Nicky did cry, love,” she murmured. “She did have moments when she cried like Storm.”

Asriel frowned. “No, she didn't scream like _that_. Oh god, if she had, I would have jumped out the window.”

Frisk winced sympathetically. She remembered those kinds of shrill sounds, and how it made anyone who heard it – even the biggest hater of all babies – feel unhappy and desperate to make it stop, because it was too much pain for one small creature to ever have to suffer...

“I hated it,” Asriel murmured again. “So I want this year's Christmas to be _good_ , Frisk. For _her_. For Nicky, too, but mostly for Storm, so she sees that the world _isn't_ always so scary...”

Frisk was quiet, again. She raised her head, and he moved his back, so that their eyes could meet. She could see how haunted he was, and how eager he was to do just that.

 _Maybe this is what we needed,_ Frisk thought - selfishly, true, but by now, she was tired of refusing to accept the fact that fate was both real and fake, and reality was the short space between.

 _Asriel must be, now, too,_ she concluded, her eyes softening. “I understand,” she admitted. “How can I help, please?”

But then, before Asriel could even answer, let alone kiss her for being so understanding, both of their phones chimed with a text message:

 _“This is your annual warning. You have twelve hours, Goat Boy.”_ (Frisk's said _“Human”._ )

Both laughed, as at least that was something to look forward to; Undyne was adamant, still, that Christmas was _her_ responsibility.

But then their laughter stopped, when they remembered the date.

“Uh,” Asriel said, looking at Frisk.

Frisk texted back. _“Undyne, what are you talking about? That's not for another six days, remember?”_

She felt worried, again. She knew Undyne was getting older, and knew she'd suffered a great deal of physical trauma, including hits to the head. She was always scared that Undyne would start to have memory problems – a fear that grew upon typing those words.

But Undyne thankfully proved her wrong with her answer _. “I know that, do you think I wouldn't know that?? My granddaughter is having a kickass Christmas, and it requires a full week of work! THIS IS YOUR WARNING, HUMAN!!!”_

Frisk sighed and handed it to Asriel, and he frowned.

Had Undyne caught on?

Or was she feeling the same as him, and wanted to do it, herself?

 _No, it has to be me, not her,_ Asriel thought stubbornly.

Normally, he likely would've demurred and let Undyne do it, as it was less aggravation to wait a year for his turn, than to challenge - and fight with - her for this year.

But this time, his mind would not be changed.

Not when he remembered Storm's face, or the way she sounded, or the way it had made him feel almost _angry -_ that a baby was capable of knowing that kind of pain, to produce those kinds of sounds...

“Hm,” Frisk said, breaking his attention – thankfully. “I wonder if she thinks I’m growing frail? Isn't that rather hypocritical of her...?”

 _Like me, with her, just now..._  she added with some shame.

Asriel blinked. “She might,” he answered - again, with full honesty – and she sighed a little. “And it is,” he added, soothing her a bit. “But we can always ask her when she gets here, to prep for it, all that. We can ask Undyne what her problem is, then, and why she's being weird, so that we can see it for ourselves."

“It's Storm,” Frisk replied, looking rather bored with it. In fact, if he looked closer, he realised it was... _annoyance_. “It's not enough that she sees her more than I ever will in my _lifetime_. No, she has to take over my own home for it.”

Asriel peered at her, and she blushed, heating up with anger.

“She's _my_ granddaughter, too!” Frisk snapped. “Her middle names are Toriel – _my_ mother – and Katie – _me_!”

“This is shit you should be shouting at Undyne, not me,” Asriel sighed. “I'm not saying I disagree,” he went on, when she looked ready to snap. “But I am saying that getting pissy will get none of us anywhere.”

Frisk puffed her cheeks out, but nodded. He smiled, her grumpy face rather endearing; she knew he was right, but he was required to be aware that it annoyed her nonetheless.

Again: _So_   _endearing_.

“Plus, you know she'll just tell you,” he added, as a lazy afterthought, just as they linked their arms, and went to walk to the kitchen. “She sucks at keeping secrets.”

“Mostly,” Frisk mumbled, resting her head upon his shoulder. “But okay. Business as usual.”

 _Which means the closet meditation,_ Frisk remembered, her arm tightening around his.

But again, he seemed different.

Changed, but in a subtle way that was good, and benefited everyone, especially himself. She liked seeing that, and though she wanted to ask about the closet, she _couldn't_.

In all fairness, she also didn't want to get her hopes up, to have them dashed, despite how childish they were.

 _Everything_ seemed childish - child _like_ , in actuality - lately, with a baby in the family, again. A baby always forced everyone around them to remind themselves of a time the adults realised they'd forgotten until now, and made everyone silly and playful.

_Like Asriel..._

So, when they reached the kitchen, and Asriel helped her to the couch and wrapped a blanket around her shoulders, she watched him – even when she was kicked out a few times until the food was ready, wanting to help.

She watched his actions, and say that he seemed... _chipper_. _Bouncy_ , almost.

She liked it, and she watched him instead of TV, smiling but hiding it beneath the blanket, already hiding most of herself beneath it, anyway.

Asriel noticed, and laughed. “Subtle, idiot,” he called, and she laughed, too, pulling it down and making her hair stick up and crackle with static.

“Can't help it,” she confessed, and one of his ears twitched, even though he didn't turn to her. “You're still... weird, today.”

Asriel smiled. “Am I?” he wondered.

Inwardly, however, he was happy. He _wanted_ her to notice, to see his happiness, and to stop worrying.

Frisk nodded, but didn't elaborate. She wanted to just _ask_ him about the box and the closet and see if it was going to happen this year, so that she could stop being tense and just _be there_ for him and get it out of the way...

But it seemed poor taste, and she kept quiet. She watched, still, but kept quiet.

It was only when her phone chimed that her attention was drawn away, and she checked it: a text from Olceal's mother, Tally.

Frisk was surprised. She never expected to hear from Tally, because around this time of the year, only Olceal did, and alone. He never went into detail about it, and Nicky refused to share it without his consent, but it was clear that the winter holidays were a time of grief for her.

Frisk knew about her losses, her sadness and her trauma, and never faulted her these things. She invited Tally every year, including this one, and always, Tally would have Olceal tell Frisk she was not coming.

Therefore, to get a text, on the day after those invitations went out, from Tally, was rather miraculous.

But then, even before she opened it, she realised how easy it was to figure out why.

And she was right.

_“Hello, Frisk. I got your invitation, and I was wondering if there was enough room for me this year. I know I’ve never done so, before, but I know you understand why. Which is why I am asking you if it is alright, for me to come by?”_

Tally was _rambling_. In _text_. 

Tally, Olceal's mother, whose texts usually read like formal letters, never did so, aloud or in text. She either had to make an effort to type so repetitively due to excitement, and genuinely had no idea that she was repeating herself, for the same reason.

Frisk was ready to be mad, as yet _another_ grandmother was closing in on _her_ granddaughter, but realise that it wasn't fair to, least of all toward Tally, as well as Undyne. She blushed, embarrassed, now, that she'd been so bratty and selfish about Storm, but she couldn't help it.

“Hey.”

She looked up, and saw Asriel looking right at her. He'd stopped cooking, paying attention only to her (though in fairness, the food needed to simmer for a bit, anyway). She blushed deeper, but nodded, holding up her phone.

“It’s Tally,” Frisk confessed, and he nodded. “She's asking me if she can join the party this year. For obvious reasons...”

Asriel heard the whine in her voice and smiled, glad she'd turned away when he did. “You can't blame her, Frisk.”

“No, of _course_ not, but I _want_ to!” Frisk exploded. “You don't get it, because _you're_ a monopoly! _I_ have to share!”

Asriel's ear twitched, and he was both confused and starting to understand. “Wait, monopoly?” he echoed, frowning at her.

“You are literally her only grandfather, Asriel,” Frisk replied, her voice softer. “Nicky is our only child, and Olceal is Tally’s; she lost her husband, remember? And Undyne and Alphys don't need no man.”

Asriel snorted, then laughed. “Quit showing your age with shit like that!”

Frisk smiled shyly, slightly cheered by his laughter. She had meant to make him laugh, but hadn't expected how much.

“But it's _true!”_ she insisted, pulling the blanket around her tighter.

She, like him, usually only wore pyjama bottoms to bed and in the mornings, like they had before Nicky was born.

But that... had changed. Just a bit. And for good reason.

* * *

They'd both forgotten about it, once, and sans had suddenly found them cuddling on the couch, watching the morning news... and _both_ were completely topless.

It was completely innocent, just casual hugging, and talking happily. sans saw very little, but was still unhappy about this, and hid within his room until the next day.

But then again, when it happened a second time, it was less innocently and with far more... _revelation_... this time around.

And yet despite that, sans realised that he actually _didn't_ care. At all.

Now that his heart had truly moved on, he still saw much to love about Frisk. 

But her nudity was _not_ one of those things.

Therefore, he stopped caring about it - and grew blind to it. It was easy, too. He didn't see her _that_ way, anymore. He'd even forgotten when he'd stopped.

When he also realised that, for Frisk and Asriel, their casual nudity was a _comfort_ thing, not a _sex_ thing (especially in the summer), he cared even _less_.

That second time, he'd laughed shortly, rolled his eyes, and shrugged.

“do _not_ expect me to join in,” was the only thing he ever said about it.

And after, whenever he saw them, he always rolled his eyes – it made them both blush and smile shyly – making it clear that it meant nothing to him, now.

It didn't happen often; sans usually spent most of his time in his room, or at Grillby's. When he occasionally emerged, it was after a long silence; he did it to be social, or to catch up, or to celebrate, and so on.

But a more important reason, the _biggest_ reason, brought him out, and that was to help Frisk with her memoirs.

Whenever she had a day to work on them, if she was up to it, he would keep her company. She was retired, had been for a few years, by then, and was barely halfway through. He encouraged her, kept her going, prodded her when she was lazy, and it worked.

Usually, her inspiration came in flashes, and with them, she wrote with ease and confidence. During these flashes, she would ask him stay with her, for his input and advice.

From there, they would start writing together, sharing memories; the macabre and slightly tasteless mockery, stunned connections and conclusions, depressing depth that required hugs, blindingly bright joy that made them laugh to tears...

It was another reason why they were at such ease with each other. It was hard to care about the past, when forced to look back on it and see how it changed their lives. Even during the worst memories, there was still something in the darkness that sparked the fire beneath something good.

It was only now that Frisk, especially, could see those tiny things, and when she did, it was easier to let go of the anguish that came with those memories. When sans was there during a specific epiphany, and it involved him, especially, Frisk always took his hand, even while writing. She did it to comfort them both, as well as reassure him.

Yes: the past was the past, and while he'd hurt her a great deal, and there was no excusing that, she could also see the good that eventually came with recovery and rebuilding.

* * *

And yet, even then, he was the same with Storm as he'd been with the first round of babies: a calm uncle.

So what Frisk was saying was true: Asriel really was the only male grandparent.

He was quiet, as he slowly came to that conclusion, himself. He went scarlet, and he quickly turned back to the stove, hiding his face as best as he could with his ears.

Frisk smiled. “You never even thought of it.”

 _“No!”_ he cried, sounding both angry and overjoyed.

Frisk laughed, her cranky mood vanishing at the sight of this bashfulness. “My love, the kids all call you ‘Dad' now! Even Olceal!”

“I know!” he answered, still in that high-pitched voice. “But I forgot! I didn't really... I never really... because who the _fuck_ would want _me_ as their grandpa?!”

Frisk's mirth vanished, and Asriel flinched. He lowered his head, hiding behind his ears, and when he moved to get a plate and turn the stove off, his hands were shaking.

Frisk got up and walked over, and when he heard her, he stopped. He kept his back to her, hunching over the sink, now, and Frisk went right up to him. He flinched, so she hugged him around the waist, resting her forehead against his back, her eyes closing.

Asriel felt her try to wrap the blanket over her shoulders around his, instead, but she was too short - and thus, very cute. It brought a fresh stab of love to his heart, and he bit his lip.

She stumbled, twice, and the third time, she cried, “Come on, you big baby! Let me fuss!”

Asriel laughed, the sound shocking him, but it pleased Frisk, because that had been her entire goal. His voice warbled, and had that same high-pitched tone as when he spoke. Even he was surprised, a feeling that made him lean back from the size of it - and against Frisk, his eyes closing.

Frisk's eyes then flared wide: he was wagging his tail. She looked down, and found it to be true; it had hung limp, but the tip was now brushing against her knees.

He sighed, then, reaching back and placing a hand over her hip, his other hand propped against the sink and holding him up shakily. Frisk sighed, noticing he wasn't lowering down close enough to cover him with the blanket, and she tried several times, grumbling louder with each miss. 

Before she tried, again, he turned around, leaned down, and hugged onto her, his face going into her hair.

“I'm sorry,” he gasped out. "I'm so sorry..."

His whole body suddenly felt like it was encased in what felt like heavy rock, as if he was trapped and being fossilized. That rock was his grief, and when he took another breath, it was a sob – one that was followed by more - and more.

Frisk held him to her, closing her eyes and supporting him, keeping him on his feet. Soon, she pulled away and took his hand, slowly leading him back over to the couch. Asriel obeyed, speechless, and still sobbing.

When they got there, Frisk sat down, crossed her legs, and patted her lap.

Asriel stared at her for a moment, even between gulps of air, once again amazed that she loved him, especially when like _this_.

“My love,” she then whispered, sitting up on her knees to touch his cheek. “What's wrong...?” She thought she already knew, and was expecting him to start leading her to the closet.

Asriel's face crumpled when she touched him, the question made him dizzy, and he wobbled on his feet, feeling so meek and small, well aware of the irony.

She leaned forward and caught him, with a grunt of effort, but she still caught him.

Frisk caught Asriel.

Asriel's eyes grew wide, staring at her, still, and when she saw her grit her teeth a little to keep him up, but still try to smile, he broke. He pulled away, crawled onto the couch, and, when she sat with him, he threw himself atop her lap, burying his face into her shoulder, again.

It was such a contrast to how he felt mere minutes ago, and it scared him, because he wasn't even sure why he was crying, despite not being able to stop it.

Frisk, however, held him to her and stroked his hair and ears, adjusting his head a bit so his horns would stop poking her. She'd been waiting for this, after all, and while it wasn't _at_ the closet, she knew it was the same reason.

But it wasn't.

Asriel was crying, because what he'd said was true: he didn't understand why their child's spouses saw him as one of their parents. That was true.

He cried, _because_ it was true, when he'd thought he didn't deserve it.

He cried, because he hadn't been able to accept it til now.

He didn't get it, but he didn't have to.

It was being called by those names – especially “Grandpa” – and realising that each one was real, was what made him cry most, above all else.

And while perhaps they'd started as sad, they we not, anymore. They were overjoyed, again.

 _He_ was overjoyed, again.

He cried, because it was so perfect: the timing of it, the acceptance, the joy of hearing it said aloud...

And now, when he thought about that box, he felt like he wanted to scream-laugh his joy...

 _Because I_ do _deserve being called by those names._

_Don't I?_

_…no. Yes, but no..._

Then, a new thought, one that shocked him.

_Yes. Those names are my triumph._

His eyes flared open, and he raised his head, startling Frisk.

 _Triumph...?_ he asked himself.

 _Duh_ , he replied. _Look at you, moron: look at this._

 _Look at_ her _._

He did.

Frisk looked back, her face falling with worry. She opened her mouth, about to ask, especially about the box, but he shook his head quickly, covering her mouth, trying to word it, first – as well as calm his sobs.

She blinked, then raised an eyebrow - and licked his palm.

Asriel yelped and pulled it back, jumping out of her lap and onto the other side of the couch, the sound so sudden it overrode his tears and slowed them – then stopped them the second she laughed, clapping her hands once and lying back on the couch, unable to stop.

 _See her?_ his mind suddenly said. _She's your triumph, too._

_You didn't win her, she's not a prize, it's not that kind of triumph._

He watched her as his mind raced, unable to look away from her, now.

Frisk was still giggling, but was trying to catch her breath. She knew it was bad to laugh during a serious situation, but he reacted just the way she'd hoped, and he was so cute.

Plus, the way he'd looked at her, even while crying, gave her a sense that maybe it _was_ serious, yes, but not _bad_.

This was confirmed when she saw he was now watching her – and how he looked as he did. In fact, when she put a name to the expression, her own smile vanished, and she sat back up, her eyes locked on his, now.

 _She is your partner in this triumph_ , he thought to himself, trying to slow his breaths, still trying to find the words.

_The two of you fought for your right to live, starting at a very young age. You fought her to steal hers, and she fought you to stop yours from being stolen away, by your worst self._

_You have seen her at her worst._

_She has seen you at yours._

_You started off showing her nothing but the worst, even after you could finally be something more._

_And now you are that something more, and in a way far better than you've ever dreamt._

_That's your triumph, you dingus._

_You have succeeded at being your best self, for Frisk – but also yourself._

“Life was a joke, Frisk,” he rasped out suddenly, just as she tried to ask, again. “I die trying to save the world, only to be used to try and destroy it – and dying again.”

Frisk nodded, crossing her legs and placing her hands on his knees, listened.

“Then, when I suddenly exist, and realise it, I'm trapped. I'm soulless. I'm a mistake.”

Frisk's eyes filled with tears, but she nodded.

Asriel touched her cheek, this time. He knew she wept from pure empathy.

“Then, you,” he finished, his voice weak. “You were supposed to kill me. But instead, you love me.”

Frisk closed her eyes, feeling real pain from memories of that.

Asriel shuddered, grabbing hold of her face and pressing his forehead carefully to hers.

 _“You love me,”_ he gasped out, his voice straining with held-back tears, but he didn't care. “My _god_ , Frisk, _you_ love _me?!”_

“Yes,” she answered tearfully, but again, he held up his hand, and she bit her lip.

“I think this way, every day, Frisk. I think about what I’ve done, and I can still barely accept that you are here – that _we_  are here – let alone with you, as my _wife!”_

He laughed suddenly, pulling away and putting a hand to his forehead, his fingers sliding back and into his short hair.

Frisk gaped at him, so confused, now.

“So when I gotta accept _that_ , and the fact that we had a _kid_ , that kid was incredible, and she grew up into a leader, too, I can't _breathe_! I _have_ to cry, because what the _fuck_ , Frisk?!”

Suddenly, he saw it: her eyes focused, and widened, their colour practically glowing, like the reddest hues within the darkest of mahogany…

“You know!” he cried, grabbing her shoulders, even as his face broke into a wider smiled. “Tell me!”

Frisk went red, feeling dizzy. She _did_ know. She knew, and understood, and he somehow knew that she would - which was why he sought her help above anyone else.

“So to have that kid grow up, discover love within the arms of the kid of your closest friends – and the kid of a new friend – while you're already choking on tears trying to admit to being a good dad...”

She choked, before she lit up, her hands going over her own mouth, her eyes full, once more.

“Storm,” she managed to gasp out.

He nodded, laughing, and she did, too, throwing herself into his lap and clinging onto him tight.

“Yes,” he agreed. “Add Storm, and I feel... unreal, as if this was someone else's life--,”

“No!” Frisk blurted out, before he finished.

“But it isn't,” he quickly went on, so he could finish. “It's real. I know it is. And... that's why I never thought of that. Because it breaks my brain – but it heals my... already broken heart...”

He sniffled, a lump in his throat muting him, and instead, he just pulled her hands to him, and pressed them over his heart.

Her fingers dug in, just as she met his gaze, again. There, he now saw fire instead of embers, and instead of shocking him, he laughed, again – and kissed her, something she returned – and set him ablaze.

_Triumph, against a universe stacking odds upon my shoulders, as if it were a personal vendetta._

_Triumph, in the form of a little girl with my mother's eyes..._

When Frisk's hands slipped lower, his thoughts followed, flooded only with her – and she, with him.

* * *

They spent the rest of the afternoon in bed, both exhilarated by this new achievement, and by the time evening was drawing close, Frisk remembered Undyne's message.

“Crap!” she cried, jolting up from the bed and scaring the breath out of Asriel. “The time!” she added.

They'd been dozing in afterglow for perhaps the fourth time, and after she said this, she was on her feet and stumbling toward the bathroom, crying out random g-rated cusses along the way.

Asriel finally breathed, collapsing back onto the bed with relief - then, with a sly smile. He listened, and when he heard the water running, he slipped out of bed.

* * *

Frisk had slowed down once she saw the time, so when he finally caught up ten minutes later, she was still in there.

Usually, he'd knock, but this time, he dared. He went in, pulling the curtain aside and making her shriek with shock. She threw her shower pouf at him, and it hit his chest, before she shouted _“Asriel! Asriel, help!"_  and tried to grab her razor. 

She was literally calling for Asriel to help her fight off _himself_ , who she thought had broke into their house.

Asriel rolled his eyes; that was because she had this weird phobia of soap in her eyes, and keeping her eyes closed in that fear, for most of her shower, and was doing so, now.

He took hold of her hands and stopped her. It took a few minutes, but soon, she came back to herself.

By the time her eyes were open, she was calm, and also amused. “Oops,” she said, grinning crookedly.

Asriel raised his eyebrows, then leaned down to grab the pouf. As soon as he did, he felt her hand slide lower down his back.

When he stood up, her hand was promptly squeezing his backside and trying to push him toward her, soon using both hands.

He stumbled, but laughed, and when he leaned forward, she climbed into his arms – and he picked her up, pressing her against the wall.

* * *

They took their time, staying in so long that the hot water ran out before they could finish; both jumped out soaking wet and shivering, grabbing for towels fast.

Frisk peered up at Asriel, then. She wondered once more, but kept quiet. He smiled at her through the window, and she smiled back, relaxing.

 _Maybe this is a turning point_ , she thought, instead. _Maybe Storm really healed his pain from being orphaned._

She had for Frisk, a great deal. She hadn't even know she was still grieving until she felt less of it.

“Should we order food, too?” Asriel wondered, drying his hair and fur.

Frisk shook her head. “No, she'll bring it like always.”

“She's never been here a week before, though.”

Frisk paused, then nodded. “Text her?”

Asriel nodded, wrapping a towel around his waist and moving to do so. Frisk, however, grabbed the edge of the towel, so that by the time he was out the door, he was naked, again.

“Frisk,” he sighed. “What if sans comes by? Cock is a bit more distracting that tits – on _either_ of us.”

Frisk burst into laughter, picturing that very same scenario, and when she saw his expression, she almost fell into the tub from laughing so hard.

Asriel smiled. He stepped back to kiss her nose, and she beamed up at him, wishing she had a tail, too. Instead, her body wiggled a little, something Asriel found much cuter than a tail would have been.

When he left without the towel, though, her laughter returned, and the song of it followed him into the bedroom, even as he grinned.

He loved her so much.

Here they were, almost sixty, and they still teased each other like eighteen-year-olds. He adored that about her, that he could make her feel so young, and she, him, simply because she loved him - and she loved him back..

And he knew, too, that it was a love far greater than the kind they'd felt at eighteen.

With a lovesick sigh, he sat down bare-assed on the bed and grabbed his phone, finding more messages.

_“Asriel please you do not have to let us stay for a week for gods sake Undyne stop trying to take my phone away”_

This was clearly transcribed, and it made him smile.

_“Dad. Please don't let her do this to me.”_

That was from Dandelion, and it made him blush, despite what the entire afternoon had been about. But she'd been calling him that for a while, now, like everyone else.

When had _that_ become the norm...?

Finally, a last text from Undyne. _“Fine! Fuck you! I won't sleep over! But fuck you, Asriel, I’m coming by tonight and tomorrow and all week, bitch, see if I don't.”_

Asriel rolled his eyes. _“You do realise that I did not make a decision yet, right? Nor has Frisk? So calling me a bitch won't help, Undyne. I know it's not a term of endearment, Alphys told me!!”_

There was a long pause after that, making him laugh when he pictured what was happening.

 _“Is it true that Aunt Tally is going to be there this year? (Be gentle my hopes are up!)”_ Dandy texted him suddenly.

 _“Yep!”_ he replied.

_“Thank you. :)”_

He smiled. He really liked Dandelion. She was forthright and honest, and could sometimes be too loud. But she it was because she was smart, knew she was, and loved it when everyone else did, too. She was clearly ancient in soul and mind, but she knew how to have fun, and usually was the best source for quick cheer.

He frowned, thinking. _She's really smart. She's blunt, and has anxiety and sound-sensitivity. She's smart, knows it, and is confident._

But when given a task that challenged her, like Undyne, she did it, no matter the situation around her. When needed, she stepped in, and kicked asses – or soothed pain. She was hilarious, too, finding humour in a way that was so clever and true, and yet was never quite put to words. She found them, made whatever it was make sense, and did it five steps ahead of everyone else.

 _She's brave,_ he concluded, _and smart. And doesn't take shit._

_Why don't we ask--?_

_“FINE!”_ Undyne's text suddenly woke him up, and he forgot his train of thought. _“FUCK YOU! BUT WE'RE COMING OVER TONIGHT AND YOU'RE EATING WHAT I GIVE YOU, OR WEAR IT, BITCH!!!!”_

Then, _“I'm so so so so sorry.”_

Asriel fell over, holding his phone to his chest like a beloved baby – and burst into laughing sobs, again, loving his family so much.

“This is gonna fucking _rule_ ,” he whispered. “I'll finally be a good king, at least _once_...”

“Sorry?” Frisk suddenly asked, walking in naked but still drying her hair – and wearing a coy grin.

That made him laugh, too, because he understood the reason for that grin at once, and he knew had no choice. Frisk grinned, sitting beside him and checking her phone, then his.

More laughter.

In that single day, one still young, there had been more laughter within that house than there had been in many years.

It felt so good.

Asriel knew it. Even _without_ his plan, he knew it.

He was so excited, but he kept his calm.

Almost.

* * *

At around five, they heard Undyne's fist pounding against the door, before there was a muffled thump, and the sound of Alphys speaking sharply – and Dandelion groaning.

It was she who opened the door, knowing it would be unlocked for them, and tired of this ridiculousness.

 _“UHM!!”_ Dandelion then shouted. She didn't add to it. She just stood there in the foyer, hands on her hips and snow caking her boots, waiting - and grinning, her tail swaying slowly.

It was such a strange way to announce their arrival, but it was also charmingly hilarious, and Dandy had about half a second before her mothers collided with her between them and hugged her. She pretended to sigh, standing there and patting their arms, pretending to hate having to soothe them, while her tail still wagged.

They kissed her cheeks, and she laughed and blushed, then squirmed out of their hold quickly, moving to take off her boots and hiding her face behind her long curtain of hair.

By now, it reached the small of her back, and hadn't been cut since she was born, save twice a year for trimming the ends. She refused to tell anyone why, and it was her one vanity. She loved to brag about it, and knew it was also her most alluring feature, too.

It was funny, too, because when she was with Nicky, they could spend hours talking about their hair, as Nicky was just as vain as Dandy – perhaps a bit more – and that made Dandy very happy, indeed. Nicky had a small laugh, soft but genuine, and she liked that, too.

Undyne and Alphys exchanged knowing smiles, before they helped each other take off their coats. Dandy pretended she was too old to be coddled, but she knew just as well as they did that she loved it, still.

By then, Frisk and Asriel had emerged, rushing down the hall and holding hands. Both were scarlet and breathless, and when they reached the foyer, they hugged their guests, but shakily. Frisk's breathing was a little too fast, and Asriel looked like he was stoned.

It was bizarre… for a moment.

Undyne and Alphys stared at them both, speechless. When the hugs were done, Frisk greeted them, and waved them inside – while her eyes kept drifting back to her husband's, and sparkling when they met.

Dandelion hugged Frisk, and Frisk blinked. “Golly, Dandy, you are so tall!”

When Frisk smiled, the tense feeling Dandelion felt when hearing that eased, as she knew, with that smile, that it was a compliment, and not a complaint or an insult.

Dandy blushed, embarrassed for underestimating her aunt, but Frisk when spoke, she stayed in place.

“Hey,” she murmured, pulling away but keeping hold of her shoulders. Before she did, she held her hands over them, and met Dandy’s eyes with her own. She saw her niece's eyes go to her hands for a moment, before they returned to Frisk's, and she smiled faintly. Frisk's hands lowered down upon her slender shoulders, and Dandy felt comforted, and didn't pull away.

“Sorry,” Dandelion said hurriedly, just in case.

“Please don't be,” Frisk replied, surprising her into looking up. “I understand, Dandy. I promise you.”

“I know,” she murmured.

“I know,” Frisk replied with a wider smile. “And so do you!”

With it, Dandy suddenly felt her smile of her own growing larger. She loved Frisk, very much, because she _did_ know Frisk knew she knew.

“Thank you so much,” she murmured.

It was so easy to forget, when at school, or alone in her room, that she wasn't always misunderstood, and that what she had to say was worth being said – and heard. Holidays for her were like trips to an amusement park, because she never had to repeatedly explain herself, nor did she have to keep asking if something was okay. She already knew it was.

Her eyes filled with tears, though, and when she felt that, she was mortified. She wanted this to be fun for everyone, not a sob fest. She jerked away from Frisk, shaking her head and looking away, before stammering an apology and walking away, moving to the other side of the foyer and entering through the kitchen.

Once there, Dandelion sat down under the table and curled up for a moment, running her fingers through her hair, each space between filled with thick wavy tresses, and she watched as the lights made it shimmer. Inside, she felt something slow down, and she focused, now knowing only her hair, the feel of it between her fingers, the smell of it and the way it brushed against her skin...

She loved her family so very much. Of _course_ she cried; she felt so much love and gratitude all at once, emotions so intense that even if she wasn't sad, the only way to emote it was with tears. She was _identical_ to Undyne in that way.

During this, Asriel was desperately trying to field nosy, loaded questions, furious that they were teasing him. When he noticed Dandy’s absence, he hissed out, “Shut the fuck up!”

(That actually disappointed Dandy; she'd wanted to hear more sex-talk.)

Frisk raised her head, just as Undyne scowled, and Alphys blushed. When she looked closer at them, she saw a slight embarrassment, there, and she sighed.

“Yes, we were,” Frisk muttered. “But we'd finished long before you got here, so please do indeed _shut.”_

Undyne and Alphys stared at her, and by the end, they were laughing so hard that Alphys fell to her knees, and Undyne had to lean against the door.

Asriel made a loud sound of said frustration, rolling his eyes and throwing his hands up into the air, before turning and walking back to the house proper, to greet Dandy – when she was able to come back out.

Instead, he turned the kitchen light off, and heard a soft, “Thanks, Dad," from beneath the table. He leaned down and caught her gaze, and grinned at her, waving, and she returned both gestures – only to start crying again, loving _him_ so much, too...

When he came back to the living room, Frisk was the only one there, glaring at the TV, her cheeks, neck, and ears flushed scarlet. He sat down next to her and threw his arms around her.

When he heard the two finally walk back in, he pulled her close – and started making out with her.

Frisk's eyes went huge, but his were shining with mirth, and when they did, her own caught the reflection – and she kissed him back, sliding into his lap, too.

(Later, when she found out, Dandelion was _furious_ that she'd missed that, and sulked for an hour.)

“Mature,” Undyne snorted, sitting down in the chair. Alphys didn't hesitate, and sat down in Undyne's lap. Undyne grinned and held her tighter, and Alphys relaxed, sighing deeply.

That was interesting, Frisk realised, unable to kiss when her thoughts distracting her. She no longer remembered Alphys hesitating with Undyne, not in recent memory, and she realised it had started when Undyne got shot.

 _No_ , she corrected herself. _When_ Alphys _got shot._

Frisk pulled away, her eyes meeting Alphys's, the question already upon her tongue.

Before she could ask, Undyne was teasing Asriel with ruse jokes, and he gave her the finger. When Undyne gave him the pearl, both Alphys and Frisk smiled at each other, sharing a smile.

Even Alphys, herself, knew she'd changed.

“Where's the hobo?” Undyne then asked, after she'd finally pissed Asriel off enough for him to start sulking.

“Not here,” Frisk replied, shrugged. “I told him, but he might not come back for a few more days.”

He still lived there, but he also spent equal time out and about. Even with the casual nudity, sans had never walked in on them being intimate, and when he knew they wanted a date night, he hung out at Grillby's.

When he did emerge, or invite (only) Frisk into his room, the time spent together was wonderful. Like Alphys, he'd changed for the better, knew it showed, and was justifiably proud of himself.

It was just his way, and it worked.

“Ah,” Undyne replied. “So when do you wanna eat? I'll pay for delivery, okay?”

That was surprising; both Asriel and Frisk had expected them to have food, but realised they'd never noticed when they'd walked in empty-handed. It worried Frisk.

“Are you alright? You don't usually forget...” Frisk said carefully.

However, Alphys suddenly looked up at Undyne, the expression on her face warning her not to say anything, and Undyne pressed her lips together, looking away.

Frisk felt a sinking in her belly. Something _was_ wrong. She knew it.

_Of course..._

It had been a while since they'd faced bad times, so she'd been waiting for it. She'd thought the lack of closet-sulking was the reason for her uneasiness, but it wasn't so; now she knew why.

Except... she was wrong.

Asriel was also looking concerned, now, unable to speak. He worried that anything he said would only worsen whatever bad thing it was, so he said nothing.

“Please,” Frisk whispered. “What's wrong?”

But then, Undyne blushed, and Alphys hid her face into her shoulder, her tail curling around Undyne's leg.

And at that exact moment, Dandelion walked back in, looking a little red but happy, again. When she saw her mothers wearing the same expression, she groaned and rolled her eyes.

“Are you _serious?!”_ she cried, alerting them to her presence. “While I was _awake?! MOM! MUM! What the hell?!”_

Then, she burst into laughter, dropping down to her knees and curling up, snorting every third laugh.

Frisk and Asriel suddenly grinned slyly, looking back at Alphys and Undyne, and they both blushed, this time, and looked away.

“Hypocrites,” Asriel spluttered out, before starting to laugh, too.

Of course it caught on from there, and had all of them joining in

Once again, the house was full of mirth and joy, awash in the song of joyful living.

Almost perfect.

But not yet.

That would take the rest of that week.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter. Sorry... I had to cut it in half, because this is already about 8000 words. 
> 
> I feel like shit. I know this is taking forever. And I know it won't be done until valentine's day, but at least I'll be done. I will be posting updates between this one and the next for other fics (including one new major project TBA). 
> 
> What's holding me back are my own emotions, and I need to get them out, away from people I bring misery to, and this is the only way how to make that misery forgivable, despite also knowing better, heh. I'm the most idiotic middle-aged housewife in the world.
> 
> But hey, at least it means you'll get lots of reading material, durrhurr...


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